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Survivors

Hope for success, under all circumstances have your heart. You may
live to see Ireland what she ought to be; but whether or not let us die
in the faith.

James Hope, 1764-1847

Never had a man or woman a grander cause;
never was a cause more grandly served.

James Connolly

(in farewell Easter message)

Survivors

The story of Ireland’s struggle
as told through some of her outstanding living people
recalling events from the days of Davitt,
through James Connolly, Brugha, Collins,

De Valera, Liam Mellows, and Rory O’Connor,
to the present time.

Related to:

Uinseann MacEoin

With portraits of the Survivors by:

Colman Doyle

SECOND EDITION

with additional accounts, notes and appendices

Argenta Publications,

19 Mountjoy Square, Dublin 1, Ireland
Phone: Dublin 01/748796

First published 1980
Three reprints
Second edition 1987

Published by:

Argenta Publications,

19 Mountjoy Square,

Dublin 1, Ireland.

Phone: 748796

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any
means whatever, electronic mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherw ise, w ithout the prior permission of the copyright owner.

By the same author: Harry

Printed in Ireland by the Leinster Leader Ltd., Naas. Co. Kildare.

Contents

Introduction to the Second Edition

Acknowledgements .

List of Illustrations .

List of Appendices .

vii

xiii

xiv

Contributors:

Frank Edwards .

Peadar O’Donnell .

Maire Comerford .

John Swift .

Tomas 6 Maoileoin .

Sean MacBride .

Pax 6 Faolain .

Eithne Coyle .

Neil Gillespie .

Mrs. Patsy O'Hagan .

James McElduff .

Nora Connolly O’Brien .

. 1
21
35
56
75
105
134
151
161
167
172

183

CONTENTS

Tom Kelleher . 216

Connie Neenan . 235

DanGleeson . 259

Tom Maguire . 277

Peter Carleton . 304

Tony Woods . 3U

Sighle Bean Ui Dhonnchadha . 33 j

John Joe Sheehy . 354

May Dalaigh . 353

Con Casey . 370

Walter Mitchell . 379

Sean Dowling . 393

Tom Heavey . 421

Appendices . 462

Bibliography . 573

Index . 575

Vll

Introduction to the
Second Edition

On the Eve of the Battle of the Curlew Mountains August 1596
Red Hugh O’Donnell’s Address to His Soldiers

We though a small number, are on the side of the right as it seems
to us ’and the English whose number is large are on the side of rob¬
bery.’in order to rob you of your native land and your means of living,
and it is far easier for you to make a brave, stout, strong fight for your
land and your lives while you are your own masters and y°“ r weapons
are in your hands, than when you are put into prison and in chai
after being despoiled of your weapons, and when your limbs are
bound with hard tough cords of hemp, after being broken and torn
some of you half dead, after you are chained and taken in crowds on
waggons and carts through English towns through contempt and

m My e bL°sing 0 upon you true men. Bear in your minds the firm resolu¬
tion that you had when such insults and violence were offered to y
that this day is the day of battle which you have ne ^ ed to n ake a
vigorous fight in defence of your liberiy by the strength of your arms
and by the courage of your hearts, while you have your bodies under
your own control and your weapons in your hands. .

Have no dread nor fear of the great number of the soldiers ot
London, nor of .he strangeness of their weapons
and confidence in the God of glory. 1 am certain if ye take to
what 1 say, the foreigner must be defeated and ye v 'ctonous.

O’Donnell won that battle. That was the message then. That is the

message now.

Fneland was and (so long as she continues to occupy Ireland), is the

mhEaTNazto!The glorious epoch ^

after the £££-*

r^ntflSCev^^thatWh hedgemony was estab-
ished throughout the island, more especially in Ulster, the las'.pro-
vince to be conquered. Their occupation has blighted us, « has
J ac,u ed our social and cultural and mercantile development. From
u w when a Cromwellian soldier hurled Teig, the aged Ollamh
o^the O’Briens, from a cliff top in Clare with a cry, Sing now your

viii

rann, old man, our progress has been stifled. England is a dangerous
and unfriendly neighbour. In her attitude to Europe - her constant
interference there over the centuries to maintain the balance of power;
even today her readiness to become a huge aircraft carrier for American
missiles; in her bloody execution at Goose Green of the Argentinian
conscripts who invaded the Falklands, she has shown, especially
through her ruling classes, that she is not to be trifled with. In the cur¬
rent Northern troubles she has welcomed two decades of insurgency
as preparation for counter insurgency tactics within her own cities; she
welcomed the Falklands because, as one would bloody hounds, it
blooded her land, sea and air forces in a full scale war experience.
Were Ireland to be free, entirely free, we would have to maintain a
taut attitude towards England. She would jump, subborn and invade
us again at the first opportunity, just as she did in those brief periods
of semi independence following the rising of 1641, following the
declaration of Grattan’s parliament of 1782 and her attempted subver¬
sion of the state in recent decades. England sees us as an integral part
of her territory. Look upon the map, how our island nestles
geographically with England. She will never willingly let us go. We
could never, were we free, cease to be watchful.

Our revolutionary leaders from 1916 onwards, showed no aware¬
ness of what a future independent Ireland might have to contend with.
They do not show in the accounts that follow nor in any writings that
one comes upon, a realisation that, once free, we would have an
immensely difficult task to maintain that freedom and our neutrality.
The 1916 leaders could not have foreseen that in time our government
could be made adjust its policies by offers of aid and by subtle
diplomatic and media pressure, orchestrated by interests within the
administration itself. They would surely have rejected any notion that
a pliant, extravagant and heavily indebted leadership could be pur¬
chased and imposed upon the Irish people and with the help of dis¬
creet media control, come to love and respect it? Yet watchfulness is
the key to national independence as we can see by casting an eye upon
the few non aligned countries of Europe. Ireland (26 Counties) is not
in their league, particularly since, in the seventies we allowed total
control of our affairs to pass to the anonymous bureaucrats of
Brussels. These extravagantly paid administrators, and their
spokesmen in Ireland, care nothing for the well being of the Irish
people.

Irish Politics: A Look Back

Republicans have been at the centre of struggle in Ireland for the
last two hundred years. (In another four years they may com¬
memorate the anniversary of the foundation of the United Irishmen.)
It is about time they won. In the struggle which is central to the

accounts in this book, the Republicans might have gained indepen¬
dence had they had the political direction of a Lenin. But they had no
one as far seeing, as wide horizoned ... or as ruthless. De Valera was
too moderate. James Connolly, had he lived, placed too much faith
in socialism (nowadays, as we have learned to our cost, socialism is
all too frequently a platform for scoundrels. Witness that miserable
rump, the Irish Labour Party, throughout the seventies and eighties,
supporting the worst right wing forces in Ireland; how they hounded
David Thronley to his death for standing upon a Sinn Fein platform
in 1976; how their spokesmen in the Six Counties support the pro¬
liferation of massive military barracks for the sake of “the work” it
provides). Can anyone imagine the anti national forces who reared
their heads in the academic and ecclesiastical world immediately upon
signing the Treaty, and that still prevail in Ireland today, being
allowed to raise their beaks in Moscow in 1920, in the Havana of 1961,
or in the Saigon of 1975? Our revolutionary leaders had no conception
when they went out in 1916, when they fought from 1919 to 1923,
what they had embarked upon. When one reads their laudable inten¬
tions, one can see that their hope was to create an independent and
prosperous Ireland; their mistake was to think political independence
of itself would leave the Irish people in unfettered control. We can
therefore assume that if the Sinn Fein party had obtained outright
freedom for the entire island in 1921, economic and social conditions
would not be much different today, in the nineteen and eighties, to
what they are. The more likely option in 1921 however was not
Ireedom for the entire island, but control only of the 26 Counties.
Although this option of May 1922 was vigoriously opposed behind the
scenes by the British let us suppose nonetheless that Republicans,
everyone from Liam Lynch to Michael Collins was willing to become
involved in a Republican government that would set out to make the
most of the Treaty. Would conditions have been much different
today? The answer is that they would not have been very different. An
indicator of how a Republican government might have performed, is
the programme, political, social and economic of the Fianna Fail
government of 1932 (and of the next wave of Republicans, Clann na
Poblachta, in 1948). The 1932 programme and the manner in which
De Valera tried to put it into effect, was laudable, but it did not go
far enough, nor did it come to terms with the key issues and the key
structures i.e. total Irish/Ireland control of the burgeoning
administration, the financial establishment, the media establishment,
the academic establishment, and last but by no means least, that obese
octopus, the legal and judicial establishment.

Economically and socially De Valera’s programme was a Sinn Fein
programme, though the Sinn Fein of those days might have gone
much further than he felt able to do. I say felt able, because, like Dan

O’Connell and Parnell, he may have perceived the inherent limitations
of the Irish people. Yet he had then — and Fianna Fail still has — the
best of the Irish in the South, the most traditional of the Irish people
supporting it. In the years 1932 to 1937, they would have followed him
through fire had he chosen to lead them.

It is not unfair then to equate a Republican government of 1922
with Fianna Fail’s performance after 1932. The Republican govern¬
ment would have been more altruistic, it would have wished to go fur¬
ther, but it also would have made many mistakes which the Fianna
Fail government of 1932 avoided because it had the benefit of wat¬
ching the performance of the Cumann na nGael government that
preceeded it. Therefore I say that a Republican government in 1922,
with Lynch, Brugha, De Valera, Michael Collins in cabinet, would not
have achieved real control for Ireland, and would not have varied
greatly the unsatisfactory conditions of today because they would not
have come to terms with the key issues and the key structures; in fact
they would have scarcely recognised them. Lenin, and perhaps
Connolly, would have, but they did not.

The Performance of Cumann na nGael (and Stormont)

Republicans look upon the creation of the Provisional Government
of 1922 as an English inspired counter revolutionary action; the sort
of counter revolution that has become familiar in the last three
decades as the two great world blocs jockey for control. In this case
it was the powerful British Empire (it became in 1931 the British Com¬
monwealth of Nations), which was determined to control through
loyal surrogates this large island at its own back door. It is imperative
that the Irish people should recognise that this is how England thinks
about us, and recognise the imposition upon them of Arthur Griffith’s
Provisional Government as a classic piece of English inspired counter
revolution. It is possible however for a counter revolutionary govern¬
ment to do good things; hence credit may be given to the government
presided over by W. T. Cosgrave from 1922 to 1932 for accomplishing
a limited number of objectives.

If we look upon Lenin as the Christ of the Russian Revolution, we
can view Richard Mulcahy and those around him as the anti Christ of
the Irish Revolution. Once into the Civil War they never deviated;
they went all out for a narrow and bloody victory at a fearsome cost.
However, in the eight years that remained to them, they built upon its
confines an efficient state that was capable of development in a
number of ways (and Fianna Fail did this, as we have seen, but did
not go far enough).

Cumann na nGael disbanded quickly their 50,000 mercenary army,
reducing it to less than ten thousand men.They set up a garda force
of seven thousand. They restored bridges and railways, and rebuilt the

burned out heart ot Dublin. They promoted education — the voca¬
tional schools for instance — in a big way; they began to look at home
industry; they pioneered the first sugar beet factory, and they built the
Shannon Scheme. They created in Ireland a replica of the British civil
service, a replica that was small and efficient then, but that has since
become burdensome and inefficient. Could we have progressed under
the Treaty stepping stones, and could the two states, north and south,
have drawn together? To that one must say two things; namely that
Stormont could have been a better and more happy state if they played
fair with Catholics, while the South, in view of its neutrality in World
War II, could have become in the sixties as prosperous as Switzerland,
Austria or Finland are today. In that way north and south might have
drawn peacefully together: it is not the fault of northern unionists but
of the Dublin administration that it has not done so.

The; Irish Administration: Deserving Only of Scorn?

The six counties, or Northern Ireland as it is now officially, has an
ar ^f. ^9® s< ^‘ m '* es (14,000 sq. Kilometres) and a population of 1.6
million. It is half the size of Holland but Holland has an embarrass¬
ingly high population of 12 million. Its nineteenth century industrial
history shows its capability; in the middle years of its existence it had
flashes of inspired development in agriculture, the environment, hous¬
ing, roads and a general air of tidiness that even today makes visiting
southerners wince; but that appalling penchant of its Orange substrata
for flag waving and coat trailing, for obvious employment injustices
to Catholics, for the ridiculous royal visits in the weeks preceeding
July, has caused this humpy dumpy to fall, and all the efforts of the
people, be they in Westminster or Iveagh House, cannot put it
together again. Had Stormont pursued an even handed policy; had it
distanced itself from flag waving visitations; had it moved towards a
federal relationship with the South, it could have survived and pro¬
gressed. But it is now one of the might have beens of history.

The northern Nationalist people have given England notice that
they must go, and one hopes that they do go. It is imperative to create
a new framework free of all English involvement in Ireland.

In association with a progressive Six Counties, the Twenty Six in the
last three decades should have been a better place for its people. With
an area of 27,000 sq. miles (70,000 sq. kilometres) and a population
approaching 4 million, it is more than twice the size of Holland, yet
with one third of its population. The island as a whole has 15 million
arable acres (21 million altogether), is on the perimeter of the two
most prosperous continents of the world, is entirely seabound, and as
a result of international conventions could control — were it not for
E.E.C. interference — a 200 mile fishing limit, worth six billion to us,
while other Law of the Sea decisions give it mineral controls over an

xii

area immensely greater than this. Consider how well off we are com¬
pared with the inland states of Europe, Czechoslovakia, Austria.
Hungary, Switzerland or the Baltic States, oceanwise they cannot
enlarge their boundaries one inch. Yet our unemployment is four or
five times theirs, and in our towns and cities thousands of children are
hungry, ill clad and with no hope in the future. Upon the foundation
of this state, it was left with a physical infrastructure of railways,
roads, harbours, public buildings, townships, cities (the heart of
Dublin was then among the most splendid in Europe), that placed it
in the front rank of countries. It has failed to maintain that position.

In fact, the government of the Twenty Six Counties, the Irish
government and its administration has so failed its own people that
it deserves, not their loyalty, but their scorn. It has failed them in
many ways, but most of all through the growth of poverty, in a world
— the western world — of affluence, and in denied opportunity.
There are many, many more gifted children, albeit hungry ones, who
will never be heard, in our working class areas than there are in the
better off quarters. Our greatest problem is poverty and the lack of
opportunity, and this permeates not only the poorer classes but into
the middle classes as well. Our government, our political leadership,
our administrators, our professional, academic and financial
establishments have let the nation down; wrong policies have been
pursued since the inception of this state, but never as wrong or so con¬
founded as since the late fifties. Extraordinary courts have been
created to deal with political offences and these, because of the tur¬
bulent situation, north and south, has resulted in this island having
more political prisoners than any other nation in Europe. Extremely
heavy sentences have been meted out; many hundreds of prisoners
have already spent half a lifetime in jail. No account is taken by the
justice departments north and south that, but for the state of guerilla
war that exists, few, very few, of these young men and women would
ever be in jail.

If Ireland as a nation is to survive and to avoid being swallowed by
the military industrial interests of the E.E.C., there must be a reversal
of national decline and a determination to promote for all, and free
from outside interference, the immense wealth resources of this
island.

Only in that way, and by a total reversal of the social and economic
policies now being followed, can the impoverishment of wide sections
of the Irish people be ended. There is no justification for the
hopelessness that has now taken a grip upon this nation.

Michael Quinn, July 1987.

Acknowledgements

I salute and thank the Survivors (those-of the band who are still with
us) who patiently answered all my enquiries and allowed me to gather
them into this book. I am amazed at the crystal clear memories they
have of events that may have taken place eighty years ago, in few cases
less than sixty. It has been an honour to speak to these men and girls.

1 thank the many Survivors whose names are footnoted or in appen¬
dices throughout the book, but whom, for reasons of admirable
modesty, did not wish to participate at greater length. While the
transcripts are a near faithful recording of what was said, historical
backgrounds and carry over paragraphs are inserted for reasons of the
narrative.

Michael MacEvilly was invaluable with Tom Heavey, the St.
George account and the story of John Joe Philbin. The authority how¬
ever on the I.R.A. in Mayo is his good friend Willie Sammon of Car-
ramore, Newport. Eibhlin Ni Cruadhlaoich formerly of Belrose (See
Upton), now of Ballintemple, confirmed that Mary MacSwiney had
sought to be on the Treaty delegation, and for that and more I thank
her. Fr. Michael Buckley of the Carmelites gave me that inspired
account by his father, Patrick, which appears in the appendices.
Seamus 6 Dochartaigh, Captaen, gave an insight on the contribution
of his own family in South Donegal/Leitrim on pages 180/182.

George Morrison kindly allowed me use upon the cover his picture
from page 16 of his Irish Civil War. It shows Republicans on guard
outside the Glentworth Hotel in Limerick in February 1922.

I got enormous help amounting to plagiarism from Desmond
Greaves of Liverpool; on selling, from the ever bouyant and
knowledgeable Pat Kissane, and finally (in avoiding a total reset) from
our printers. All others, and there are many, many, are acknowledged
in one way or another, throughout the text.

Uinseann Mac Eoin, 1987.

XIV

List of Illustrations

opposite page

1916 Aftermath. British Tommy in a northside Dublin street 64
April 1917. Ireland stands united 65

June 1919. Dc Valera arrives in the United States 80

Late 1920. The suppressed Dail in session 81

Late October 1920. Hearse bearing Terence MacSwiney 144

General Tom Barry 145

General view of Upton Station 160

October 1921. Irish delegation arrives at 10 Downing Street 161

April 1922. I.R.A. leaders, two months before Civil War 304

May 1922. The Free State Army 305

July 1922. A wounded Republican soldier at his post 320

General Michael Collins 321

The home of James Cullinane, Bliantas 392

Tom Cullinane of Bliantas 393

John Wall’s house at Knockanaffrin 408

Kitty Cashin, Ned Gardiner and Bill Treacy 409

Location of “Katmandu” 422

Neil Plunkett Boyle’s hideout at Knocknadruce 438

Order of Appendices 1-31

1. John Joe Philbin

2. Shooting of 1.0. for Munster

3. Fight at Upton Station

4. Dr. John Harrington: Account of Vol. “M”

5. The London Association of Michael Collins

6. Arthur Griffith

7. Duggan’s Signature was Forged

8. Free State Treaty Debate and Vote

9. Charlie McGuinness

10. Diarmuid MacGiolla Phadraig

11. Fr. Michael O’Flanagan

12. Eve of Conflict: Emmet Humphreys

13. Memories of the Civil War: Aodhagan O’Rahilly

14. The shooting of Patrick Mulrennan

15. Under Two Flags: Account by exR.l.C. Man Patrick Buckley

16. The O’Malley Papers

17. Sean Mac Bride and the St. George

18. Mountjoy Prison Escape

19. George and Charlie Gilmore

20. Gilmore Brothers

21. Cora Hughes

22. Annuities Campaign

23. Dev and the Oath

24. Dev and the Statute of Westminster

25. Se£n Mac Bride and the Oath

26. De Valera and the I.R.A.

27. Stunts

28. An Phoblacht

29. Spa Hotel Meeting

30. Nora Connolly O’Brien

31. Sean Russell

Page

462

484

485
492
499
507

510

511

512
514
518
520
528
534
536

552

553

564

565

566

567
567
567

567

568

569

570

571

Frank

Edwards •

Lieut. Waterford City Battalion IRA
Sergt. XV International Brigade, Spain

My father and mother had no background in the national
movement, none whatsoever. My grandmother was from Limerick
and a great nationalist. I remember her well because she remained
with my mother from the time we left Belfast — where I was born in
1907 — until we had settled in Waterford. My father had gone out to
the Great War; he died shortly before the end of it. My brother Sean,
or Jack, as I always called him, was a railway man, an engine cleaner at
the terminus in Waterford. He had started that in Dundalk. It was oily,
dirty work. He always came in black. Through the job, he became
interested in labour affairs, becoming an organiser in the ASLE
(Associated Society of Locomotive Engineers). I can recall the day of
the one day strike against conscription in April, 1918; he was the chief
marshall of the union in Waterford. People had a tremendous regard
for him. He was tall and with a commanding appearance. He had
suffered some injury at work, and I can still see him marching along
with his arm in a sling. Sunday, April 21st, was the day for signing the
pledge outside the churches. We had them on our side that day!
Tuesday, 23rd. was the day fixed for the national strike. The Germans
had removed their troops from Eastern Europe, signing a Peace
Treaty with the new Soviet Stated). They were quickly assembled on
the Western Front and thrown in there against the overstretched
French and British. Of course the British included almost a quarter of a
million Irish whom the parliamentarians had helped to send into the
fight. The Kaiser’s war lords hoped by a new offensive to forstall the
arrival of American troops on the scene(2) and bring off the long
sought coup de grace. The British looked desperately around, and
decided that if they introduced conscription in Ireland they could raise
half a million men, cannon fodder of course. The one day strike was a
great success. Everywhere in Ireland, except around Belfast, shops
and factories were closed, and trains and trams suspended. No

FRANK EDWARDS

newspapers appeared in the South. The pubs were closed; a lot of
shops and hotels. My brother was then only nineteen.

Waterford City. I know, has a connection with Redmondism, but it
also had a strong Republican and Labour influence. To be called a scab
in Waterford was one of the worst sorts of disgrace; the reputation of a
scab travelled along families like the reputation of an informer or
landgrabber in rural parts. Marx mentions Waterford in his writings
pointing particularly to the strength of the Bakers’ Union there.

I myself never heard of politics until Jack became involved in the
Volunteers; he brought in my brother Willie, who died in the great ’flu
a short while after, and received one of the earliest Republican
funerals. I joined the Fianna; that was in 1917, and I was ten. There
was a Volunteer hall in Waterford: imagine the British allowing
Volunteer halls and allowing Volunteers parade in uniform! The hall
came into some use during a brief strike of student teachers in the De
La Salle College against the poor quality of the food. The Volunteers
offered the use of the hall when the students retired from the college.

Redmondites and Sinn Fein

I can recall the three of us marching out the Cork road to a meeting
at which De Valera spoke. That may have been prior to the great
election of December, 1918. The meeting, billed to take place in the
city, was banned, so it was held outside. I remember John Redmond,
but not Major Willie Redmond. He was killed on the Western Front in
1917, blown up without trace, one of the best-loved members of the
Irish Parliamentary Party, they say, and brother of John. It was as a
result of his death that De Valera was selected for Clare. John
Redmond was a fine looking man too, very nice looking and popular. I
can still feel the belt I got on my head from some of the Ballybricken
people when I went shouting for Dr. Vincent White, the Sinn Fein
candidate at that election. Redmond, as I said, was very popular. His
son. Captain William Archer Redmond, waselected of course; he died
sometime in the thirties. He took ill in Ballygunner after the funeral of
an old Redmondite. Waterford was one of the six seats out of 105 that
they won, but Parliamentarianism was wiped out. Cathal Brugha was
elected for us in the county.

The Redmondites in the city had plenty of punch, and I mean punch,
in that election. Their followers had many ex-servicemen. We brought
in Volunteers from Co. Clare to deal with this situation. Later on,
when Dr. White waselected in 1918 as Sinn Fein Mayor of Waterford,
he was dressed in robes of green, white and orange, for the annual St.
Patrick’s Day procession. Everything went fine along the Quay and up
the Mall until he came to the corner of John Street. There was a great

FRANK EDWARDS

crowd there of Redmondites, ex-soldiers mostly and their wives. As
soon as the procession came abreast, they let fly, not at the people in
the procession, but at St. Patrick!

Waterford was not all that active in the Tan struggle of 1920-21. D
Company was said to be one of the most active, and Jack was a section
commander in that. It was made up mostly of manual workers,
railwaymen and so on. He was then promoted O.C. of C Company^
which was made up of shopboys and clerical people. I used to hear him
say he would shake them up. Things got too hot for him however; he
had to go on the run. He joined a flying column, the O.C. of which was
Patrick Paul, a former British soldier. He went with the Free State
afterwards. During that period the White Cross(3) looked after us.
They were in the Comeraghs, based on the Nire Valley. They were in
some engagements, that I do not know much about, but I do know that
they attacked successfully a train in Durrow. It is hard to say what
support they had among the people. There was a big swing around
alright, and the people were afraid to inform on them. They could move
about freely, stoppingwhere they liked. The military would not be told.

I was on my way to Ring College, for an Irish summer course — it
was a small scholarship I got — on the day that I heard of the Truce. It
was a priest, who was a strong Sinn Fein and Gaelic League supporter,
who took us there. My only thought was, now Jack can come home. He
did too, for a while, but went off again to assist in training camps, and
to help in the Helvick gun-running.

Waterford was held by Republican forces in the run up to the Civil
War. I remember Collins coming to address us in the week before the
Pact Election in June, 1922. There was a crowd of Republicans
heckling and attacking him. What a pity, I thought; a few months
before he had been a hero to them, now he was dirt. I made my way
over; I reached up to shake hands with him. He reached his down to me
and grasped mine warmly. I did not know afterwards whether to regret
or cherish the only contact I ever had with him. Jack at that time was in
command in the military barracks. It had been taken over under the
terms of the Treaty from the British. He was one of four officers who
took it over formally. Like everywhere else, they were wearing green
uniforms, the uniforms of the Provisional Government, the Free State
of course. That was what later on made the decision so difficult, when
it came to tearing off those uniforms, as it did when Jack heard about
the attack upon the Four Courts. He would have made ideal officer
material; who knows one day he might have been a Commandant
General in their forces.

The Civil War

I cannot say how they made their decision when the crunch came.
Frank O'Connor was there too, a captain, one of the great Republican

FRANK EDWARDS

families in Waterford. One of his brothers. Peter, was with me in .Spain
afterwards. Another brother, Jimmy, the eldest, was in charge of the
hanna. He told me that one day in the run up to the Civil War, they
were sent out by Commdt. Lennon, in connection with agrarian
disturbances, which had now become frequent. They were told to load
up. When it comes to firing, says Jack, / know where / am going to fire
Nothing happened and they were ordered back. But you can see there
was a basic clash between Republicans who had a radical background
and the people who make officer material in an army like the Free
State Army. When the time came to resist the Staters entering
aterford, it was people like this who chucked it in and had no more to
do with it. There was another agrarian outbreak. I am jumping ahead
of course, to the late summer of 1923, after the Civil War had ended It
was a localised civil war, but maybe a more logical one. It was centred
m the countryside around Kilmacthomas, between the farm labourers
and the big farmers. Houses and hay barns were burned down. The
^-State Army had to convoy the farm crops and stock to the towns.

«/ ^ 3S n ° mili . tar y P* an w hen the Civil War started. Resistance in

Waterford was minimal. They just melted away. There was an effort
made to block them at the approaches, but the Free Staters just moved
around and landed a force from the river. Nobody was prepared for
that. The proper thing would have been to attack the Free Staters
rather than await them like sitting ducks. Jack was in charge of the
G.P.O. here. They shelled it and took it easily enough. He was now
their prisoner. That was sometime in mid July. He was taken to
Kilkenny where, after a few weeks, he was shot’dead by a sentry on
19th August. It was known to be a reprisal for the shooting of a Free
State Officer, a Captain O’Brien, in Waterford. Someone called him
to the window of his cell. A sentry had his rifle pointed and fired it.
Shot while attempting to escape, they said, but we knew differently.

I went to Kilkenny to claim his body. In spite of everything, there
was a great turn-out when it arrived in the city, but the doors of the
church were shut against him. The Christians and the Provisional
Government, you could say, were hand in glove.

There is a three verse ballad written of him. the last verse, sung to
the air of “Kevin Barry”, going like this:

March with stately step and solemn.

Lightly tap the muffled drum.

For the gloom around is now cast
There’s a soldier coming home.

Make this grave upon the hillside.

Where he fought in days gone by.

Fire three volleys o’er the graveside

FRANK EDWARDS

Where our soldier lad will lie.

Let us wipe out fault and fashion
And when Freedom's day will come.

Let us prove ourselves in action
As Jack Edwards often done.

I had no part in the Civil War, being still too young. Go home to hell ,
Jack said to me outside the post office, when I had tried to get in. I
carried some messages, but the area of activity moved on from
Waterford very quickly, although they executed two lads in the jail
there(4). For us it had hardly started when it was over. It then became
something that we read about in the newspapers as the Free State
Army tightened its hold upon the country

Building Up Again

In 1924, I joined the now re-organised Waterford Battalion of the
I.R.A., taking the bloody oath prescribed for them by the Dail in
August, 1919, the same Dail that two and a half years later let them
down.

I, A.B.. do solemnly swear.that I shall support

and defend the Irish Republic.against all enemies..

This political oath followed the take-over of the Volunteers by the
Dail earlier that year, when they were promised that the state of war
would persist until the British military invader evacuated Ireland. I am
glad to say that the I.R. A. after 1924 had a bit of sense about oaths and
replaced it with a declaration. I was in it now anyway; I suppose it was a
feeling of family loyalty, of not wanting to let Jack down. I was in it, I
remember, while I was in the training college, at De La Salle. I was
there from 1925 onwards. I came out to a few meetings. There was
nothing very much happening. The members were a scattering of
ex-prisoners, mostly disillusioned, as far as I could see. Some silly
things happened; I suppose that is inevitable at times. A volunteer
went to disarm a Free State soldier, and shot dead the girl who was with
him. Then there was a raid on pawn shops, for binoculars of all things,
and a pawn shop assistant was shot. I remember another time when
two Free State soldiers were held up and disarmed by two volunteers.
They came straight to my house, leaving their two Wcbleys with me.
Then they went to Johanna Norris, a great lady; she kept a piggery.
She hid the two rifles in some dry straw at the back of the piggery.

FRANK EDWARDS

Saor Eire

In 1927, having largely dropped out of things, I was approached by
Jimmy O Connor, to become active again. Jimmy was a brother of
Peter and Frank, whom I mentioned earlier. There were three
companies based on areas in the city; Ballytruckel was one of them We
are on the verge of something now, I thought. I was now a teacher. I did
not bother seriously about my job, getting married or anything. I
remember a bloke came to me selling insurance. When I saw in the fine
print that it would ail be invalidated in the event of a revolution, I told
him to take it away. I was sure we would be on the hills by 1928, but the
years went by and still “we were on the verge”. About 1930 Peadar
U Donnell came to address a meeting on the Annuities issued
remember, because we organised it. It was held opposite the boat club,
and I can recall Peadar making some slighting reference to its
membership. It made me wince because I was in it. one of their
foremost oarsmen. I was very glad I had not told Peadar that I also
P'.ayfd'ypy- The meeting was called to aid a Wexford man who had
withheld his annuities and was imprisoned in Waterford jail. Things
were developing however, Cumann na mBan was established on a firm
tooting. Bobbie here(5) was a member of it. She succeeded in getting
them to drop their allegiance to the Second Dail, which. I am afraid,
drove Mary MacSwmey out of it. I received at that time an invitation to
the foundation meeting of Saor Eire, in the autumn of 1931 in Dublin.

en I think of it, it was a most undemocratic way to send out
invitations, just the Commandant, that was Jimmv O’Connor, and the
Adjutant, that was myself; it was I.R.A. through and through They
got a Co. Council member from Co. Clare as a chairman of the
meeting. He startled everybody by commencing with a religious
invocation. And then to cap it all Fionan Breathnach stood up later
and said we should adjourn the meeting as some wished to attend the

Ireland in C roke Park that afternoon. It shows you how seriously
they were taking their socialism. Religion cannot be much good, Sheila
Mclnerney cracked afterwards about the invocation. It did not work
for Saor Eire!(6)

Maybe it was the crest of the Fianna Fail wave that was carrying us

a u° n &^ e , Were ' m SOme eyes ’ ,he ,eft win 8 of them. When it came to
the 1932 election we worked for them although I threw in my lot with
Labour. I was secretary to the local INTO and through that a delegate
to the trades council. Had I shown any inclination to go with Fianna
Fail, they would have been glad to have me. The Edwards name meant

something in Republican circles because of the connection with Jack I

could ha ve done the usual, cashed in on the dead. We sold a lot of An
rhoblacht around that time, as many as six hundred copies weeklv I
suppose it was people who voted afterwards for Fianna Fail who had
bought them. We Republicans had nothing to offer them politically

FRANK EDWARDS

Radicalism in Waterford

I had got the writings of Marx and Lenin by this time. 1 had also met
Sean Murray, formerly I.R.A., but now the secretary of the
Communist Party. He encouraged a group of us here, among the
I.R.A. people, to study the manifesto. When I went to Dublin for the
Saor Eire meeting, I called down to Connolly House, in Great Strand
Street, the Communist Party headquarters, where I met Johnny
Nolan. I bought a lot of books from him. At that time we held packed
discussion groups every Sunday night to which the public were invited.
But it was 1934 now. Dev was in power for two years. We had the
Economic War. We had the Bass boycott, and still we were “on the
verge’ . Well, be the hookey, you can’t be on the verge for seven years.
You can t keep people, potential revolutionaries, going for ever on a
diet of hustings, commemorations, flags, banners and Bodenstowns. I
felt it was time to make a break. When the idea of a Republican
Congress came up it attracted me. There was an I.R.A. Convention
held in Dublin on 17th-18th March, 1934, at which the Congress idea
was put forward by Peadar O’Donnell and strongly supported by
Frank Ryan. It was considered “too political” by many of the 120
delegates. Nonetheless it was defeated by only one vote. Half the
delegates then withdrew, and those people, Peadar, Ryan, Mick Price,
George Gilmore, later with Charlie and Harry, along with Sean
Murray of the Communist Party, Roddy and Nora Connolly, Jim
Larkin Jun., William McMullan, the l.T.G.W.U’s man from Belfast,
and many more set up the new organisation.

A manifesto was issued and an organising meeting called for
Athlone on April 8th. It was not the success we had hoped for. A
paper. Republican Congress, was published. It was edited by Frank
Ryan and was very much on the same lines as An Phoblacht. It lasted
only from May until December, of the following year, nineteen
months altogether. Our second Congress was held in Rathmines Town
Hall in September 1934. We had all been waiting for it. There was a
disastrous split, however, between the moderates represented by
Peadar, George Gilmore, Sean Murray, Frank Ryan and ourselves,
and the “Workers' Republic” group led by Price, and the two
Connollys. That in short was the history of Republican Congress.

Now I will tell you. how it all began in Waterford. We were involved
in a big way from the start. Most of the local I.R.A. supported us. They
were working class. The O’Connors had a substantial trade union
connection. As soon as Congress was founded, we tackled the question
of slum landlords, of which there were a few in Waterford. We helped
to organise tenants and the unemployed. Two representatives of the
unemployed were later elected to the Corporation as a result. We also
had a firm policy of supporting strikes. I will not now go into the

FRANK EDWARDS

wisdom of that particular policy. For months we kept Waterford on the
front page of our own paper. It was very much a collective effort. The
details were supplied to me and I did the writing up. At the same time
there was a prolonged strike by builders labourers, in Hearnes, the
local big contracting firm. Some other building firms became strike¬
bound as a consequence. By a coincidence, John Hearne was at that
time carrying out a big extension at our school. Republicans of all
shades became involved. The strike was sharp and prolonged. The
local canon. Archdeacon Byrne, who was acting bishop at the time,
was co-manager of the school where I worked. Mount Sion, Christian
Brothers School. He intervened in the strike on behalf of the bosses.
John Hearne was in confab with him, constantly in and out of the
presbytery. This was known because you cannot do much in Waterford
without it being known. This same priest was trustee of some of the
slum property I had investigated though I did not know that at the
time. However quite unknowingly I had been making a direct attack
upon himself.

The strike ended eventually after five weeks in what was both a
compromise and a partial victory. Canon Byrne made a speech saying
how delighted he was it had ended, but at the same time how perturbed
he was that certain people had intervened in it who had no right to do
so. These people were attempting to set up in Ireland a state after the
model of Moscow. Interference by these people in the affairs of
Waterford must stop. He made some reference to the anti-slum
campaign, but he was on weaker ground there. My major sin obviously
was to have mentioned his property, though we were unaware that he
had any connection with it. Finally he warned off all and sundry against
attending the forthcoming Republican Congress in Rathmines, in
September.

Now, to return to that gathering. Two lines of approach were put
forward, one, the united front approach, by Sean Murray, Peadar and
the Gilmores; the other a workers republic approach, by Mick Price.
In reality he wished simply to make it another political party, and one
which, unfortunately, could have only a miniscule following. It
surprised me that Price could now be so leftist, since he had been so
lukewarm to Saor Eire. He came to an I.R.A. meeting in Waterford
late in 1931, in Grace Dieu , and referred to Saor Eire in rather
disparaging terms. He did not want it to interfere with orthodox army
activities, he said. A great militarist, you know; he had us on parade
and addressed us as an O.C. Mick had no time for discussion groups.

The Split in Congress

Our hope in coming together in Republican Congress that time was
to create an umbrella sheltering Republicans, trade unionists and

FRANK EDWARDS

Fianna Fail people. That was our hope, and it did not work. That was
the intention of one resolution, the united front resolution. This was
the course that all of us in our talks in Waterford before the meeting
had agreed was the correct one. The other one. Resolution Two, I will
call it, you would need to be De Valera to understand it. I found it hard
to make up my mind. Frank Ryan was rushing us to come on his side.
He did not bother trying to explain his to us either. I spent nights and
nights turning the two of them over in my mind before I could decide.

Bobbie was here in Dublin for weeks before that. She was involved
in all the preliminary discussions. She recalls at the Rathmines meeting
Roddy Connolly speaking for the Workers 1 Republic lobby, whipping
off his pullover in the excitement of addressing the delegates. His
name, the Connolly name, swayed many of them. Nora was there too,
throwing her full weight in with Roddy. We could pot wait until the end
of that Sunday evening. Us country delegates had to rush away at five
o'clock for our trains. Bobbie remained for the elections. She was
elected to the executive. Before we left the Town Hall we knew
however that the movement was finished. We were called into a room.
Peadar explained to us that, although we won by a small majority —
ninety-nine to eighty-four — the movement was split down the middle.
The resolution was worded as follows:

We support a United Front campaign by which worker and small
farmer leadership in the whole Republican struggle can be
achieved.

Mick Price was very dissatisfied that his Workers’ Republic
resolution failed. Nora Connolly O'Brien agreed with him and
withdrew. (7)

Then swear we one and swear we all.

To bear it onward 'till we fall.

Come dungeons dark or gallows grim.

This song shall be our battle hymn.(8)

They all missed the real issue, the danger of fascism developing from
the Blueshirt movement(9) of Eoin O'Duffy. You may say that the
orthodox Fine Gael politicians, Mulcahy, Cosgrave, O'Higgins etc.,
did not want to have anything to do with a mobster movement like
O'Duffy's but I would remind you that Hindenburg did not wish to soil
his hands with Hitler.

There was a fairly strong radical movement continuing in
Dublin. We thought we would get somewhere on rent strikes.
We had activities on things that were real and that mattered.

FRANK EDWARDS

Cora Hughes went to jail. Nellie Clover went to jail. Charlie Donnelly,
who was afterwards killed in Spain, was also in jail. It may have been
over the strike in Bacon Shops Ltd., which occurred in 1934, and which
was supported also by the I.R. A.

There was never a deep cleavage between Congress and the I.R. A.
although a Congress group was attacked by people at Bodenstown in
1934 and again in 1935.(10) A party with Congress emblems at the tail
of the Republican procession toGlasnevin in Easter 1935 was attacked
by onlookers. In June of that year An Phoblachl (11) was finally
surpressed by the government although there were a few mimeo¬
graphed and printed issues afterwards. The Republican Congress
newspaper was very opposed to this form of censorship. They also got
greatly worked up about the prisoners whom Fianna Fail was again
flinging into Arbour Hill in 1935 and 1936, and were treating
abominably. Con Lehane was the O.C. there. There was a big fight in
November 1935 and some vicious things were done, resulting in them
being forced into solitary confinement. That struggle continued until
the following August when Sean Glynn of Limerick was found hanging
in his cell. He had been sentenced for attempting to attend
Bodenstown in June.

From the springtime through the summer.

And ’till Autumn harvests fell.

They endured the fiendish tortures
Of that awful silent hell;

Twas God’s grace that helped them bear it.

For ’twas meant to break and kill.

And one brave heart burst asunder
In the cells of Arbour Hill.

Republican Congress held a protest meeting in December
demanding freedom for the I.R.A. to pursue its training and
organising. Meanwhile I had been sacked in January 1935 from Mount
Sion. I had been warned against going to the abortive Congress
meeting the previous September. Following my return from that I
received three months’ notice. I suppose it could not happen now, but
Archdeacon Byrne had his eye upon me because of my success among
the workers of Waterford. Bishop Kinnane, a dyed in the wool Tory 6
issued a rescript in January condemning me. The I.R.A. immediately
issued one of their statements, which I suppose was meant to be
helpful, saying, that while I was not a member, they supported me
Dr. Kinnane replied to that one with a real salvo, charging that the
I.R.A. was sinful and irreligious , quoting their appeal to the
Orangemen in 1932 as proof of it. He lumped all their small farmer

FRANK EDWARDS

and nationalisation proposals together, thundering there you have
enunciated the fundamental principles of socialism reprobated by our
Catholic teaching.

On Sunday 26th January, Maurice Twomey, Padraig MacLogan,
Mrs. Brugha and Tom Barry arrived to hold a protest meeting. Despite
a statement read in all the churches forbidding attendance, over 5,000
attended. It was a sock in the eye for the bishop, but despite the
tremendous support I received from every quarter, including resolu¬
tions from An Fainne. Fianna Fail, the Trades Council, the Mayor,
Ned Dawson, I was bested. I had to leave Waterford.(12) They would
not leave even my mother alone. She had a post as a public health
nurse. They boycotted her and she had to resign, dying very shortly
afterwards.

The War in Spain

What were your feelings Frank when you heard of the military
uprising against the Spanish Popular Front Government on 17th-18th
July, 19367(13) I was in Dublin then; I was unemployed of course. 1
had got three months teaching work in Sligo, but nothing else. I came
to Dublin, first to help Frank Ryan with the paper, and then when that
folded, I remained on at the University to complete my B.A. I had
been staying in An Stad, the hotel, or boarding house for Republicans
in North Frederick Street.

It was around August that I decided to go. I was delayed however by
my mother’s illness and death in September. For that reason Ryan put
off his departure also. In the meantime I had obtained a passport — it
was not like now when everyone has a passport — and I had got a letter
from Owen Sheehy-Skeffington. It was a letter of introduction, mar
eadh, to a school in France; a pretence that I was off seeking a job. He
was the son of Hannah, who had edited An Phoblacht along with
Frank. The story is told that, when Frank would be rushing off, he
might direct that a blank space in a column be filled with a quotation
from Padraig Pearse. / will not, she would say, / have a far more
appropriate one here from James Connolly. They were great in those
days for Holy Scripture! We left on 10th October.

We arrived in Spain in November and were put through a very
rudimentary training at Madridejos. It was pretty harmless training. I
remember the battle of Lopera. south of Madrid, was on; that was just
after Christmas. We had been flung into a night attack upon the
village. I remember streaming down a hill towards it, firing. They had a
couple of machine guns well placed. We never took that village. The
next day we spent trying to hold our position against a counter-attack.
It was pretty grim. Their fire-power was far greater than ours and their
equipment much better. The first shot I fired as I advanced, the rifle

FRANK EDWARDS

broke up in my hands. I did not know what to do. I had no gun. Just at
that moment a comrade fell so I grabbed his rifle. That was in
Andalusia, where most of our fighting was destined to be, and most of
our dead now lie. It was a dry stony country of rolling hills and olive
groves, small primitive villages with very little cover for soldiers. We
were on the Andujar front, two hundred miles south of the capital. In
that attack, it was just run, run, against the enemy. Like the Irish at
Fontenoy, only here we sang, when we were gathering for the attack.
Off to Dublin in the Green. They were all I.R. A. men of course, and, as
we charged up that hill in the initial assault, I remember many of us
shouting Up the Republic. They were nearly all young Dublin lads, a
terrific bunch.

We were not there as a separate unit, we were part of a British
company. Frank was fighting hard for a separate identity, but he was
too optimistic. He was outvoted. There was no way we would be made
a separate Irish unit. He was right from the point of view of local
politics in Ireland. He always had one eye on Ireland. This was a
demonstration against the fascists at home. There was a total of 132
Irish, direct from Ireland. There were in addition other Irish-born
from England, Scotland and America. Many others claimed they were
Irish merely to get in with our section. At Lopera, we were 150 going
in, after ten days there was left of us, active and still able to fight,
only 66 . Ralph Fox, the young English writer, and John Cornford, the
poet, were killed there.

Donal O’Reilly, a young left-wing trade unionist was appointed
political commissar of our section. I took over when O’Reilly was
wounded. I was also fighting of course. It was my job to try to keep up
morale, to shout Adelante, in a charge, Communisti pirotef
(Communists in front!) My first experience of being under fire was
when a plane flew low over us in the olive groves, spraying the area
with machine-gun fire. A chap near me got hit. He was killed instantly.
We were just sitting there, but there were bully-beef tins lying near us
which may have attracted the light.

You stopped worrying after a while. You scarcely even thought of it
when a comrade died. You did not stop and say: Ah, me poor whore.
No, nothing, you did not have to banish the thought, because you had
ceased to think of it anyway.

After ten days fighting and heavy casualties we were pulled out and
taken to the Madrid front, to a place called Las Rozas, ten miles north
of the city. Talk about out of the frying pan into the fire! I was at L as
Rozas only one night when I was wounded. The XII and XIV
International Brigades had been thrown in to prevent a Franco
advance which would have cut off Madrid. We just managed to block
them though there were thousands of men lost on both sides The

FRANK EDWARDS

German Thaelmann Battalion fighting for us was almost wiped out. If
you could forget that it was war. it was beautiful to look at. An
immense and ever-changing fireworks display rolling along the hilltops
in the dark Spanish night. And we were expected to advance into that.
I felt bad under heavy artillery fire. George Nathan came up and
removed his helmet. Pointing at a hole in it, he said: You know this is
not much good. A stone did that. Still, fixing it back on. I suppose it is
better than nothing. Spread out now, said he. We have lost two men
already. Shortly after Dinny Cody and myself got hit. 1 did not feel too
bad as I walked down the hill. Send up stretcher-bearers, I told them,
but Dinny was already dead. 1 was soaked in blood myself from a
wound in the body. I remember Mike Lehane and two Austrians
helped me to an ambulance. It was one hell of a rough ride over stony
roads to the first-aid hospital. Later I was transferred to a proper
hospital in Madrid. Nathan was a brave soldier, no matter what is said
or may be suspected of him. He was killed, still rallying his men in that
devil-may-care manner of his, in the Brunete salient north of Madrid,
in July 1937.

After a few weeks in hospital, I was back at the front. This time I felt
like a seasoned warrior. I had been through it. I had been wounded. I
got reckless. I felt that, as I had been hit once, I could not be hit again.

Could anything be more silly? A ridiculous notion. But you get
indifferent like that. While I was in hospital, the fascists attacked south
of Madrid at Jarama again. They were trying to close their pincers on
the capital. Ryan was there. There were an awful lot of casualties and
he was wounded. When we were not fighting we engaged in argument
and discussion with other members of the battalion. There was every
sort there, anarchists. British conservatives, church-goers and non¬
goers. I used to be in a church choir. I knew many hymns in Latin. This
used to astound some of the Spaniards; Ah. you were a Catholic before
the war, they would gasp. Many of them had been Catholics too, but
only in a very superficial way. For a while we were beside anarchists.
They supported the government in a loose sort of way. They were
idealists, but without the slightest idea of discipline or organisation.
Meanwhile the communists in the army, from being a very small part of
it, gained more and more control. They fully supported the
government, a centrally controlled government.

I left Spain at the end of 1937. It had become a practice to pull out
the veterans, as we were now called, so that they could train fresh
volunteers or proceed abroad on lecture tours. They asked me if I
would be willing to speak in Ireland, or would 1 go on a tour of the
U.S. A. with Fr. Michael O’Flanagan. Fr. O’Flanagan was then living
in Sandyford, near Tony Woods and Maire Comerford. He had been
out of politics for some time, but still kept closely in touch with Peadar.

FRANK EDWARDS

He had as both housekeeper and secretary. Mary Nelson. She was a
great woman; she married Gerald Elliot afterwards.(M)

1 came back to Dublin and returned to Waterford where Bobbie now
was. Fellows came over to me in the street to shake my hand. / don't
blame you for going out to have a bash at them, one said, thinking I had
gone to Spain to have a crack at the Church. I found however, a
complete change. The Christian Front was gone, so too were the last
fragments of Republican Congress. All of my old friends were retired
to the side lines. No political organisation existed in which they could
play a part. My task now was to try to get a job. any sort of a job; it was
not going to be easy.

First of all I got digs in Clonliffe Road, twenty-five bob a week, all
in. I got a job with Pye Radio, but got thrown out when 1 tried to start
the union in it. Then through some of my rugby contacts, believe it or
not, I got a job as a labourer, digging and laying pipes. I was about six
months at that when I got the opportunity to get back into teaching. It
was in the Jewish national school on the South Circular Road. It was
July, 1939, and the war clouds were enveloping Europe. 1 got one
week’s work there, before the holidays in July, earning ten pounds. On
the strength of that, and the promise of more, I got married in August.

In 1946, following the tremendous showing made by the Soviet
armies in Europe, we set up here the Ireland-U.S.S.R. Friendship
Society. We filled the Mansion House at the first meeting, but, as you
sav, it is always easy to fill the Mansion House the first time. It was
hard going, with the commencement of the Cold War, after that.
There was a Miss Early, secretary of it then; she was succeeded by
Hilda Alberry, who did trojan work, but in the end had to resign,
because of the pressures and intimidation upon her. When I took it
over in 1955, its membership and its influence was very small indeed.
Hard diligent work has changed that; we are now almost a respectable
institution.

REFERENCES

1 Treaty of Brest — Litovsk. March 1918. which followed the Russian collapse and
Lenin’s desire to get out of the war at any cost.

2 The U.S. entered World War One in April. 1917. but was slow in making its
presence felt on the battlefields of Europe.

3 The Irish White Cross, a Sinn Fein charitable organisation.

4 Michael Fitzgerald and Patrick O’Reilly ofYoughal, on January 25th, 1923.

5 Miss Bobbie Walsh, now Mrs. Edwards.

FRANK EDWARDS

6 The foundation congress of Saor Eire was held on September 26th-27th, at the
Iona Hall, North Great Georges Street, in Dublin. It was attended by 150 delegates. An
attempt to hold it in the Abbey Theatre or the Peacock Theatre was refused. Its
objectives were the abolition of private ownership of lands, fisheries and minerals, a
state bank; state control of imports and exports, with wide state support for the creation
of industrial workers co-operatives. It gained neither public support nor I.R.A.
enthusiasm. When Fianna Fail came to power Saor Eire was quietly forgotten.

The members of the National Executive were as follows: Sean McGuinncss* (Sub. F.
Breathnach). Sean Hayes (Clare). May Laverty* (Belfast), Helena Moloney, Sheila
Dowling. Sheila Humphries*. D. McGinlcy. M. Fitzpatrick, Sean MacBride, M. Price*.
Pcadar O'Donnell*, David Fitzgerald (Dublin), M. Hallisey (Kerry), M. O’Donnell
(Offaly), Pat McCormack (Antrim). Tom Kenny (Galway), L. Brady (Laois). Nicholas
Boran (Kilkenny), John Mulgrew* (Mayo), Tom Maguire* (Westmeath).

Asterisks denote those who later signed the manifesto of Republican Congress.

7 In the issue of Republican Congress of 27th October. 1934, George Gilmore
castigated Price, dubbing him a reactionary in his I.R.A. days. The vote was close; 99 for
a Front, 88 for a Workers’ Republic.

8 Verses from the Red Flag written by Ulsterman Jim Connell and set for singing to
the air of the Green Cockade. A single issue of the paper once carried a red flag on the
masthead. It caused nervous readers to protest that they were already under sufficient
pressure from public opinion, without actually going out seeking it. It did not appear on
it again.

9 Under the leadership of Dr. T. F. O’Higgins, the Army Comrades’ Association
had expanded dramatically in 1932, and towards the end of that year they adopted as
parade uniform, the blue shirt. The following July, subsequent to Fianna Fail’s second
election victory and the peremptory dismissal of Eoin O’Duffy as Chief of Police, on
February 22nd 1933. the leadership of the A.C.A. was offered to him. In standing down
Dr. O’Higgins spoke of the burden of leadership which he said had grown too heavy for
him. He outlined to the delegates assembled in Dublin’s Hibernian Hotel, the objectives
of the Association, to prexent the spread of communism, to protect life, property, free
speech, and democracy in the country. Anyone with the slightest taint of communism was
then having a thin time. With each Lenten pastoral, the bishops thundered against both
Communism and Republicanism. In Gardiner Street, the Jesuits manipulated the
simple God-fearing sodality men into attacking Connolly Hall, in Great Strand Street,
and Mrs. Despard’s Workers’ College, in Eccles Street, in April 1933. Both were
wrecked and Charlie Gilmore was arrested when he tried to frighten off the mob with a
revolver. In Leitrim there was another cause celebre. James Gralton, a left wing
Irishman who fought in the Tan War, returned, settled down and commenced to run a
dance hall. He used it as a platform for publicising his left wing views. The local clergy
accused him of creatine a communist cell in Drumsna. Fianna Fail quickly bowed to
Achonry. and Gralton?(now a U.S. citizenj was served with a notice of deportation.
Always a man for lost causes. Peadar O'Donnell went down to Leitrim and attempted to
hold a protest meeting; the local P.P. Father Cosgrave, called it an anti-God meeting.
O’Donnell was stoned out of the village. A year earlier he had lost a famous libel action
against the Irish Rosary, which had said that in 1929 he had been sent to study at Lenin
College. Moscow, although O'Donnell had never visited that country. It would be
difficult now to imagine just how easily at that time anti-Communist feeling could be
stirred up in Ireland, and as year succeeded year, the position worsened. In pious circles,
O’Donnell was cast as Ireland’s leading anti-God figure. In the Ireland of the Thirties,
there was no bonus for a political movement that trumpeted socialism or friendship for

FRANK EDWARDS

Russia. The I.R.A. was caught between the anvil of Fianna Fail and the hammer of

episcopal anti-Communism. .

O’Duffy accepted the O’Higgins accolade; he loved to strut, and straight away
announced a new name for the organisation, the National Guard. Its first objective, (and
one always dear to the heart of the former O.C. Fifth Northern, was to promote the
reunion of Ireland.) He announced a national parade in Dublin for Sunday. August
13th. at which he expected 100,000 to attend. It was to prove a silly boast. P. J.
Ruttledge. the then Minister for Justice, thirsting for such a confrontation, banned the
parade and O’Duffv climbed down. It could be said that from the First weeks of his
leadership, his fangs had already been drawn. In August the movement was banned
altogether, but it quickly reformed within the now united Cumann na nGacl and Centre
Party, (henceforth FincGael). and in September adopted the new name. Young Ireland

Association. .. .

We need not follow it much further, beyond recalling that in the following December,

(1933) it was banned again, whereupon the leadership changed the name once more to
League of Youth. 1934 saw a considerable rise in violence between their supporters,
police, and I.R.A./Fianna Fail people. There were a number of deaths on both sides.
But from now on the movement commenced rapidly to decline. Fissures appeared
between the ebulliant O’Duffy/Cronin/Jerry Ryan leadership and the more
conventional politicos within Fine Gael. In September he resigned without warning, but
to their evident relief, and was replaced by Commdt. Cronin. 1935 saw the organisation
shrinking further with control passing into the hands of Cosgrave, James Dillon and
McDermott. The days of the great rallies and marches were definitely over. Finally in
October 1936. the politicians at Fine Gael HO. at 3 Merrion Square, locked out
Commdt Cronin and wrote ‘finis' to their Blueshirt period. The League of Youth, a pale
shadow of its former self, was laid to rest behind the stuffed keyhole of the Georgian
head office.

10 Congress had their banners seized in 1934. They had agreed not to carry any.
Their banners were again seized in 1935 and some of the forty-two member* taking part
were attacked. They retired to Sailins and were addressed by Peadar O Donnell, George
Gilmore, and Sean Murray. The oration was given in the graveyard by Sean MacBride.
Referring to the Congress group, he said. Had they marched, the Imperialists would have
made propaganda out of it. Evidently the I.R.A. might have been dubbed Ted

11 Edited at this time by the widely respected Donal O’Donoghuc. shortly to be
married to Sheila Humphries. Donal O’Donoghuc was imprisoned the following April
in Arbour Hill.

12 The essential difference between Saor Eire and Republican Congress lay in the
fact that the former sought to marshall the whole people behind the Workers* Republic
programme. Congress was prepared to work through individuals for limited
revolutionary objectives, such as rent strikes which it organised under Cora Hughes in
Gardiner Street, in Dublin, thus creating a revolutionary situation. They hoped for
support from individual members of Fianna Fail, but their methods and programme
were too utopian for a canny political organisation whose base was firmly on the ground.
No one from Fianna Fail joined them.

One of their first actions was to send George Gilmore to the United States, where he
remained during most of 1934. He tried to collect money but with very indifferent
results. Some of the Irish ex-bond holders sent on in good faith receipts for bonds they
exchanged in support of Mr. De Valera’s Irish Press share issue of 1928. The receipts,
which were remarkably similar to the bonds themselves, were of course worthless. When
Gilmore returned the organisation was already on the decline. They had founded a
paper Republican Congress which lasted from May 1934 until December 1935.

FRANK EDWARDS

13 The Civil War. long boiling, broke out in Spain on 18th July. 1936. Within a few
days the country was evenly divided, with Franco and his generals (these were known as
the Nationalists) holding the western half, backing upon Portugal, and the government
forces — (the Reds in the Irish Catholic papers) — holding the eastern half flanking the
Mediterranean. Madrid, from the start almost, was in the front line, and held by
government forces; the extreme north along the Biscay coast was also in government
hands, being part of the Basque province of Vizcaya, and also the adjoining provinces of
Santander and Asturias.

The Popular Front was the legal government of Spain. It had been elected in the
previous February but with an extremely slim majority.

4.176.156

For the Popular Front, the votes cast were:

The others consisted of:

Basque Nationalists
Centre Group

National Front (Right Wing)

130,000

681,047

3,783,601

There had been turbulence before the election, but this turbulence increased
afterwards. It was easy for the conservative forces, the Church and the Army, to
persuade many Spaniards, and of course people abroad, that the disparite grouping of
Socialists, Republican Left, Republican Union, Catalan Left. Communist (there were
17 of these only in a Cortes of 473). who made up the Popular Front were in no position
to maintain order or to guide the destinies of Spain. They were obsessed too with the fear
that what had occurred was the prelude merely of a Bolshevik take-over, a Putsch after
Trotsky and Lenin, as in Russia in November, 1917. While the Left Wing, now in
government, squabbled and lost control of their followers, the conservative forces in
opposition, and the centre groupings, consolidated among themselves, and prepared for
insurrection. The immediate cause of the outbreak, when it came, was the murder by
left-wing police and civilians of the Monarchist leader Calvo Sotelo on July 13th, but it
was clear that considerable preparations must have been made by the Army generals
beforehand. Not all of the Army supported the Franco forces; within a few days many
soldiers found themselves before his firing squads, among them seven generals.

The course that the 33 month long fratricidal war now followed was bitter and cruel in
the extreme. Not only were many of Spain’s finest art treasures, in the way of buildings,
destroyed, (fifty churches burnt in Madrid within the first week) but civilians on both
sides suffered. It is estimated that upwards of 50.(K)0 were executed by the Nationalists in
the course of the war (many more afterwards), most of them in the first weeks. All but
one of the Popular Front deputies found in that half of Spain were executed. Many of
these killings were carried out in the most brutal fashion. On the Government side
retribution was equally swift and summary; no one can estimate the total numbers who
died in the war as a whole — but it must be near half a million.

The world powers declared against intervening at an early stage, but the non¬
intervention pact was made a mockery of by the open participation of Italy and
Germany. Both these nations contributed handsomely to Franco’s victory; the Italians
some 50,000 trained soldiers at one time, and the Germans upwards of 16,000 Luftwaffe
and anti-tank personnel. Each of the dictators saw their future to some extent bound up
with a victorious Fascist Spain, and Franco, to some extent. lived up to their hopes. At
the end of the war, in March 1939. he dutifully joined them in an anli-Comitern
(anti-Russia) pact. He was clever enough to stay out of World War II.

Was it the sort of war in which any foreign nation should have had an involvement
even as volunteers? And could they hope — short of massive intervention like Hitler and
Mussolini — to sway the issue? Passions in Spain are generations deep, and issues which
might seem clear-cut abroad, were by no means as clear-cut in Andalusia. Gatalonia or

FRANK EDWARDS

Castile. The government side had most of the volunteers, some of them adventurers
mayhe, but most of them liberal and left-wing idealists. Those who sought service as
combatants were grouped in a section of the army known as the International Brigade.
The Brigade was the brainchild of Europe's communist parlies (principally Maurice
Thorez. the French leader) though they welcomed non-communists. The first arrivals
reached Albacete in October, and from then on continued in a steady trickle from most
European countries and the U.S.A., until their number built up to 18,<XX) (though
40,000 in all could claim to have been in the Brigade). The Soviet Union could take
credit for being the inspiration for the Brigade, but in most most other respects. Russia’s
aid to the Government of Spain was disappointing. Some 85 million dollars worth of war
materials are said to have been delivered, though the Spaniards maintained that all of
this was paid for in gold bullion transferred to Moscow. Stalin’s cautious foreign policy
was reflected at home in purges which had a disruptive effect upon left-wing people the
world over. The disappearances, the confessions, the executions of his most important
policy-makers and generals, including many of his principals within Spain. Ovseenko,
Berzin. Gaikino, Orlov, disheartened international communism. The infighting going
on between Communists and the powerful Trotskyists (POUM) even at the most critical
period of the war had a debilitating effect. Was this the witches cauldron into which
Frank Ryan and his comrades, Peter Daly of Wexford, R. M. Hilliard of Killarney,
Michael O’Riordan of Cork, Paddy O’Dairc of Donegal. Charlie Donnelly of Armagh.
Kit Conway of Dublin, Dick O’Neill and Bill Henry of Belfast, Joe Monks, Alec Digges,
Mick Brennan, Jack Nalty, Jim Straney, Dan Boyle, Bill Beattie and Tommy Patten of
Achill — to mention only a few of them — should have thrust themselves? Or even General
Eoin O’Duffy and his 650 volunteers? It is doubtful, though it must be said that none of
these who survived this bitter war ever expressed the slightest tinge of regret for taking part
in it. Politics in Ireland were at a loose end; for some of them there was nowhere to go but
Spain. That they were heroic there was no doubt. It was an end to boasting, and for most of
them an end to the seemingly endless drilling of their I.R.A. days. In this struggle for
democracy, they were putting their life where their mouth was. Many of them believed that
victory for the government forces in Spain would put a stop to the gallop of fascism in
Europe. Maybe so, but would it really have stopped Hitler from going to war, if not in
1939, then perhaps in 1941 or 1942?

FEELING IN IRELAND

What was the feeling in Ireland about the war? Historically the ties between Ireland
and Spain have always been strong, for religious reasons as much as the romanticism of
history. The majority of the Irish were horrified and bewildered at the attrocities of the
war. They were presented in a totally one-sided way as Red atrocities or Nationalists’
victories by all of the newspapers north and south, with the exception of The Belfast
Telegraph, The Irish Press and The Irish Times.

The Irish Free State was a party to the non-intervention Pact and retained its
ambassador to Madrid (later Valencia); the radio and official viewpoints therefore
behaved with exemplary neutrality. Not so the Fine Gael Party and the remnants of its
Blueshirt following. On 31st August, 1936, the Irish Christian Front was founded at a
mass meeting called for the Mansion House, Dublin, by Mr. Paddy Belton, (father of
Paddy, and uncle of Luke, the Fine Gael politicians). Dr. J. P. Brennan, the Dublin City
Coroner, and Miss Aileen O’Brien. Interrupters at the meeting who shouted remarks
about James Connolly were removed. It concluded with Hail Glorious Saint Patrick and
Faith of Our Fathers. The following month there was an announcement that General
O’Duffy would organise a brigade. 2,<XX) volunteers were sought. About the same time
the Christian Front held a mass meeting in Cork. They continued to progress around the
country by holding meetings in Sligo and Longford, culminating in a throng of 30,000 in
College Green on 25th October. 2,(XX) Catholic Boy Scouts took part. President Paddy
Belton declared: The religion of Ireland is our sacred heritage and its protection demands
immediate action.

FRANK EDWARDS

It has been said in some quarters that at this time Irish Republicans did nothing. But
the official movement had its back to the wall, with almost the entire leadership locked in
Arbour Hill, and the Crumlin Road, due to the concerted Fianna Fail and Stormont
pressures now being exerted upon them. Donal O’Donoghue and Tomas MacCurtain
were on hunger strike in July and August. Sean Glynn died in Arbour Hill in August.
Mick Conway lay in the Joy under sentence of death for the Egan of Dungarvan
episode. In Belfast. Sean MacCool and Jim Killeen (arrested at a courtmartial in Crown
Entry the previous April) were on hunger strike. An attempt to form a political
movement Cumann Poblachta na h-Eireann. and to contest elections, was a dismal
failure; their candidates in two bye-elections in Galway and Wexford were wiped off the
map. Abroad the big Soviet trials were rumbling along; Kameneff and Zinovieff with
fourteen other leading members of the Politburo, after making the most abject
confessions, were shot.

The previous April, before the Spanish outbreak. Republican Congress and the
Communist Party attempted to hold a meeting in College Green, but were set upon by a
shrieking mob. O’Donnell. Jim Larkin Junior, Willie Gallacher. M.P..Scan Murray and
Barney Conway, were down to speak. The attempt to rally the people on the high
ground of the Republic had narrowed itself to a partnership of those two small groups.
Don 7 let the police save O'Donnell, shouted the crowd, as 2,000 yelling young men sang
hymns and surged towards him. There was no meeting. The crowds then marched off
and ransacked the Congress office in Middle Abbey Street, but Congress was on its last
legs, and was soon to shut up shop anyway.

But despite the bewilderment of the ordinary people about what was happening in
Spain, the Blueshirt/O'Duffy/Independent line-up made it quite certain that few I.R.A.
men sided with Franco. There was no “ambivilance” about this, (though pious people
like Sceilg and Brian O'Higgins might have had other views), and when Fr. Ramon
Laborda visited Dublin in the spring of 1937, his talk in the Gaiety on behalf of the
Basque people, was crowded out with Republicans. But it was certainly not a time for
heroics, besides which the Movement, with the best of its young men leaking away to the
International Brigade, did not wish to encourage a flood. They clamped down on
volunteers going there. A total of 132 Irish (Ryan himself reported 350. counting the
Belfast. Liverpool and American Irish), fought with the brigade from the first battle at
Jarama, south of Madrid early in 1937, to the last skirmishes of springtime 1939. Over
sixty of them died.

There is a valley in Spain called Jarama.

It’s a place that we all know too well.

For *tis there that we wasted our manhood.

And most of our old age as well.

O’Duffy’s 650 Irish faced them for a brief period on the opposite front, though
neither side knew r this Ryan has left a colourful account of the part played by the
Irish in a History of the 15th Brigade, published in Spain in 1938, and since
republished. (While O’Duffy has told his somewhat more modest story in Crusade
in Spain}. A third of Ryan's men were killed or wounded at Jarama; he himself was
hit in two places.

Paradoxically the Irish were attached to a mainly British battalion commanded by
Captain George Nathan (under Kit Conway) an ex-Black and Tan soldier reputed to
have been concerned in the killing of Lord Mayor George Clancy of Limerick, the
former Mayor Michael O’Callaghan and another leading citizen. Joseph O’Donoghue,
during curfew hours in March. 1921. This did not lead to the most amicable relations,
especially when the Daily Worker failed to give the Irish credit they conceived to be due
to them for action on the Cordoba sector of the Madrid front. Was it Irish touchiness or
English upper-crust prejudice? Many of the participants these days would deny either.

FRANK EDWARDS

One Englishman at least, Ralph Fox, had an abiding interest in Irish affairs and had
written a pamphlet covering the many references by Karl Marx to Ireland. Yet
something must have occurred since many of them opted for transfer to the Abraham
Lincoln (US) Brigade, where they formed the James Connolly Battalion shortly
afterwards.

Frank Ryan returned to Dublin fora while in 1937, and was put forward as a candidate
in Dublin South Central in the General Election, of July 1937. in which Fianna Fail
slipped back, barely carrying their New Constitution with only one third of the twenty-six
counties voting in favour of it. In a statement, the British Government said that the
Constitution made no fundamental alteration in the status of Eire, which name they
would recognise as applying only to the twenty-six counties. (De Valera won strongly the
following year, when, after recovering the Ports and terminating the Economic War. he
sprung an election and was returned with an overall majority). Ryan was not elected. He
received only 875 votes. Support for Republicans had sunk to an all time low. and Frank,
because of the Congress split, was in no position to mobilise that support. The I.R.A.
itself was passing through its ebb tide, or interregnum phase, between the “politics” of
the early thirties and the “militarism” of the 1939 period. The fall of Twomey as Chief of
Staff brought in succession Sean MacBride. Tom Barry and Mick Fitzpatrick to the helm
before the arrival of Sean Russell on stage in April, 1938. Bodenstown 1937 was a
measure of the support. Tom Barry was the speaker; there were 1,5(X) present where two
years before that there were 30.000. Mick Fitzpatrick, who would shortly succeed Barry
as Chief of Staff of the shadow army read messages from jails, north and south, holding
one hundred Republicans. Frank had tried to speak in Dublin on May 11th, at an
anti-Coronation meeting (Edward VIII had abdicated the previous year because of Mrs.
Simpson, and George VI. his brother, was taking over instead). The I.R.A. was
advertised as taking part, and, since the I.R.A. was illegal, the meeting was banned.
There were scuffles with police as Barry, Ryan and others tried to address them. They
moved in mercilessly and laid about them with batons. Others in front of the old Liberty
Hall that night were Tadgh Lynch of Cork. Sean Keating of Kilkenny, Nora Harkin,
Bobbie Edwards. Larry O’Connor, Sheila Humphries. Jimmy Hannigan, Con Lehane
and many more. The girls brought some of those who had suffered from the batons up to
their small flat near Parnell Square. Peadar O’Donnell arrived later, and was upset to
find the flat crowded with wounded and bloodied men. The following night a much
diminished meeting took place at Cathal Brugha Street — the old pitch — in which the
speakers were Tom Barry. Frank, Donal O’Donoghue and Peadar Rigney. So much for
those who say that the I.R.A. and Frank were irretrievably parted over Congress, and
Spain. They were not; far from it. Militant Republicanism was in the marrow with
Frank.

In August, twenty wounded Irishmen returned home — fourteen of them from
Dublin. Things were not going well in Spain, but despite his doubtsand his arm in a sling
Frank had returned there. Lying in the same bed before the College Green meeting, he
had told Tom Barry of the bitchiness and the splits between the left-wing factions. You
may think things are bad with Republicans, he said, but you have not seen Spain. Then
why go back? said l orn. Would you have left your men to find their own way out after
Crossbarry ? replied Frank, / will go back and bring them home.

Highlighting the other extreme of Ireland’s woe, was the death in September of ten
Mayo tatie hokers in a fire at Kirkintilloch. They were from Achill. and had been doing
the autumn migration since time immemorial. Merrion Street immediately appointed a
committee to investigate the migration problem.

14 See a note on Fr Michael O’Flanagan in Appendix.

Peadar

O’Donnell

Commandant General ,
Irish Republican Army

My mother's name was a good west Donegal one — Brigid Rogers.
There was some radical tradition in her family. She herself was a strong
Larkinite. which was quite unusual in a country district. There was
none at all in my father’s family. The national movement when it came
along, simply caught us up and carried us along with it. The people that
really made it are never heard of. Their names never came to light. It
was a people's movement. We had no Fenian background, no
Parnellite loyalty; not even a memory of moonlighting. West Donegal
had not the same land problems of other areas. The patches were too
small for a landlord to covet them. There was no land worth struggling
for. We lived by subsistence farming, there was no cash crop, they
went to Scotland for that.

I was one of a family of nine, born in February, 1893. Our farm of
five acres ran straight down to the edge of the Atlantic. My father had a
boat and a source of income from a lime kiln. You could survive if you
were thrifty. There were nine of us; five went to America. It was my
youngest brother, Barney, that eventually took over the farm.

At an early age I went on a scholarship to a teacher training college,
St. Patrick’s. Drumcondra. I was there from 1911 until 1913. I did not
like teaching particularly — I would probably have emigrated
eventually — but I was lucky enough to have an uncle. Peter Rogers,
who came home from Butte, Montana, where he had been an active
member of the “Wobblies”, the Industrial Workers of the World,
which had been founded in Chicago in 1905. He sharpened my aware¬
ness of the class struggle. It did not seem strange to me that the people I
met at Liberty Hall later on, should emphasise that the real fight would
begin when the middle class tried to duck out of the Republican
struggle on terms that would suit them. That was what was to happen,
but Labour was not ready for it and took no part in it, except the
shameful assistance official Labour gave in that carnival of reaction.

PEADAR O’DONNELL

Glimmerings

Student life in St. Patrick’s was pretty arid so far as politics went. I
saw Tom Clarke once or twice when I bought a paper in his shop. I was
not aware that he was an old Fenian; it was only afterwards that I came
to know that. I saw James Connolly twice, and each time he was
involved in a fracas. On one occasion it was with a group of Citizen
Army men in North Great Georges Street, then a fairly respectable
street. There was a crowd of women jeering and calling him the
bandy-legged militia man , because he had been in the British Army.
The next time was on a fine Sunday morning outside the Zoo, in the
Phoenix Park, where he used to appear regularly. Again it was a crowd
of women who took exception to him appearing on a suffragette
platform. They were against votes for women, as were many women at
that time. They pelted him with rotten fruit, so much so that he had to
retreat inside. I recognised his face from a postcard picture that I
happened to see. I did not know him, and had no inclination even to
make his acquaintance. My younger brother, Frank, had more
political awareness than I had at that time; he had already joined the
I.R.B. (Irish Republican Brotherhood), and was very much at the
centre of things in West Donegal.

I had heard of Sinn Fein, but was not attracted to it. I knew little of
Arthur Griffith, but I despised his attitude in the 1913 strike. His
paper, Sinn Fein , vigorously opposed it, and opposed the food ships
from England.

In 1913 I went to teach in Inishfree, an island that is now empty. It
was a good fishing centre at that time. I spent some time at Derryhenny
on the mainland, and later was transferred to Aranmore. It was a big,
fairly well-off island off the coast; they held on to their homes there by
seasonal earnings in Scotland.

I was still teaching when 1916 came. Its ripples were scarcely felt in
the Rosses. It might have passed and been forgotten had not England
pushed the people together with her threat of conscription. I had, as I
have said, a distaste for teaching. I therefore wrote to Liberty Hall and
inquired from William O’Brien if his union, the Irish Transport &
General Workers’ Union, had a place for me, as an organiser. I
obtained a full-time post as organiser of all the Northern counties —
except Donegal — at four pounds, ten shillings per week, which was
actually better than my teacher’s salary. I was based mainly in Derry.
In that city, as you know, the main workforce has been the women in
the shirt factories. There has always been high unemployment among
the men. However, I felt that Derry’s place was not important. Belfast
was the city that mattered.

What was my impression of Bill O’Brien? I did not like him but I
respected him. We regarded him as the Lenin of the Labour

PEADAR O'DONNELL

Movement. The Petrograd Revolution had occurred; we admired it
and looked to someone like O’Brien to lead us that way. Tom Johnson
was around also. He was a socialist, a mild, but good person. He had
spent his early years in Belfast, where he was an associate of James
Connolly. Later, under the Free State, he became a T. D., and was the
leader of the Labour Party. Labour had no influence on the course of
events then or later. They should have demanded their quota of seats,
as part of the inheritance won for them by Connolly, but they neither
had the willpower nor the calibre of women and men, necessary to
demand and to fill these positions, which they should have sought from
1918 onwards.

De Valera had said Labour must wait, but the reason they did not
demand their place in the Independence Movement is not because of
anything he had said, but because they were thinking in terms of the
trade union movement. They were afraid to identify themselves with
independence in case it would affect the prospects of trade unionism in
the North. .1 om Cassidy, chairman of the T.U.C., was an organiser for
a cross-channel union. He naturally was thinking of his members too.
The tragedy was that none of them understood the extraordinary grip
the Republican ideal had upon the young people. Bill O’Brien and
Tom Johnston kept very close to the core of the independence
movement, but they did not take their place in the leadership. The
movement by-passed them. One of the reasons Dublin voted
Republican rather than Labour, was because the masses in Dublin are
very Republican. They resented the fact that Labour had deserted the
Republic. This fear, this looking back over their shoulder, all the time,
has left the Labour and Trade Union movement in Ireland feeble and
inept.

Absence of Political Thought

Another tragedy was that Connolly left no successor. When he went
radical nationalism died with him. The one person who could have
taken his place was Cathal O’Shannon. He was, however, on the
payroll of the Transport Workers’ Union, and was very much under
the influence of Bill O’Brien. He was a very good person, a brilliant
person. He knew more of what Connolly was about than anyone I
know. Had he been in the Volunteers in 1922, instead of being
attached to the trade union movement, he would have played a very
significant political part in the Army Convention of March. We were
very poorly off politically at that time; we let the Republic go by
default.

Early in 1919.1 left my job as a trade union organiser. I became fully
committed to the Volunteers. I joined No. 2 Brigade of the First

PEADAR O’DONNELL

Northern Division in East Donegal. I had been a short while in an
Active Service Unit, but from early 1921 I was O.C. of the Brigade. 1
received that appointment from Richard Mulcahy in Dublin. At the
same time I met Collins. I had already expected a split in the
leadership. When I returned to Donegal I raised the question with
other officers of the Brigade. Griffith, I forecast, would lead the
breakaway. Mulcahy, I expected, would remain on the Republican
side, while Collins might find himself on the other side. Our territory
ran from Malin Head and Fanad Head in the extreme north to Lifford
in the south east and Glenveagh in the south west. My younger
brother, Frank, was vice-brigadier of the First Brigade, while a third
brother, Joe, concentrated on making bombs and explosive devices for
the units.

I narrowly escaped arrest when a destroyer came into Burtonport in
May and arrested our Divisional staff. It was a split second raid,
commando like, but I got away. I must say I was not the military type. I
realised that our task really was to build up the conscienceness of the
people; to get ready for the next political push of which we were a mere
manifestation. I looked upon the army as a train that must be kept
upon the right track and not let go down a siding.

I always had the conviction that Arthur Griffith would duck out of
the independence movement at the first opportunity, but I believed
that Bill O’Brien and company would mobilise and move forward. I
was horrified therefore, when 1 found that they too supported the
Treaty, along with all the other reactionary forces. We had set up two
training camps during the Truce period. One was in Glen Swilly:
another at Brocderg in the Sperrins and Glenveagh. I saved the Castle
from burning at the evacuation. There were training officers sent from
Dublin; Tod Andrews is one that I recall. Meanwhile I was now on
the Executive of the I.R. A. I wasted a lot of time running to and from
Dublin. That is how I came to be in the Four Courts in June, 1922.
Otherwise 1 would not have been there.

When the news of the Treaty came in December, I felt that was what
some of us had expected; that the middle-class was getting all they
wanted, namely the transfer of patronage from Dublin Castle to an
Irish Parliament. The mere control of patronage did not seem to me a
sufficient reason for the struggle we had been through. I therefore
signed the requisition brought to me by Sam O’Flaherty, calling the
senior officers together for the General Army Convention of 26th
March, 1922. That was banned by Arthur Griffith, but it was held
nonetheless. However, one must remember that the main opposition
to the Free State within our ranks came from very dedicated men,
almost religious men, like Kilroy, Tom Maguire, Pilkington, Liam
Lynch and so on. All they stood for was that they would not accept the

PEADAR O'DONNELL

Treaty; they had no alternative programme. They were the stuff that
martyrs are made of, but not revolutionaries, and martyrdom should
be avoided. We had a pretty barren mind socially; many on the
Republican side were against change. Had we won, I would agree that
the end results might not have been much different from what one sees
today. The city-minded Sinn Feiner was darkly suspicious of the wild
men on the land. They were alert for any talk about breaking down
estate walls. First of all, win the war, they said; Bear in mind that the
eyes of the world are upon us, a people fighting for pure ideals. Pure
ideals were used as a mask and a blinkers to direct the movement away
from revolution. After the Treaty, had we soaked up all the leaderless
people then awaiting our bidding, we could have changed the whole
social structure to accommodate them. The leaders eventually, in such
a movement, would have been the urban working class; though anyone
who wishes to think in terms of reality in Ireland today, must base their
struggle upon a worker/small farmer movement. The paradox is that
the Irish Labour Party today would support the big farmer because he
gives employment, against the small farmer who must depend upon
the resources within his own family.

The Counter Attack

To my mind, Liam Lynch and Rory O’Connor were unsuitable for
the decisions now thrust upon them. Lynch was a very good person,
but he did not have a revolutionary mind. He could not descend from
the high ground of the Republic to the level of politics. The talk that
emanated from the second convention in June was a very clever tactic
that suited Free State thinking perfectly; getting some of the I.R.A.
plotting an attack upon the British, while the Free State continued to
consolidate; militarily stupid, politically disastrous. As he travelled
south, while the Four Courts attack was in progress, his only message
to us was that he was not thinking of war, but of peace. I had hoped that
this attack upon us would serve as an anvil, against which the country
would rear up and smash the chain around us. They would have too, if
they had been organised and led properly. The Tipperary men
occupied Blessington but were then ordered back by Oscar Traynor.
He was only O.C. Dublin, and was not empowered to do that. Paddy
Daly, who led the attack on the Four Courts, told me that he had not
the slightest hope that he could reach it, had he been opposed. Instead
we made soldiers of the Free State Army by putting up a show of fight
while retreating away from them. That gave them confidence, and
added immensely to the numbers of youngsters, including demobbed
English, who now joined them.

Paddy O’Brien was O.C. in the Four Courts, a very promising lad. It

PEADAR O'DONNELL

was his misfortune that the Executive of the I.R.A. was in the same
building. That undermined his authority: he could not prepare its
defence properly, and when the attack came he could not undertake
the break-out actions he would have liked to take. The result was that
after three days, 180 of us were taken prisoner, and all but five who
escaped, ended up in Mount joy shortly afterwards.

Most of the prisoners were Dublin men, and their folk soon crowded
around the goal gates demanding visits which were refused. As our top
windows overlooked the roadway, crowds gathered opposite, and
when a flag or a hand was pushed out through a broken pane, they
cheered lustily. We reacted to that promptly by quarrying out the
window frames so that we could lean our trunks well out and call across
to the crowd. It was extraordinary how. amid the chorus of bellowing,
one could aim words at a special person in the throng and snatch at the
reply. Even while we talked, the noise of the rifle fire came up from the
city where the fight was still going on.

Diarmuid O’Hegartv. Governor of the jail, and later Secretary of
the Executive Council of the Free State Government, issued an
ultimatum that prisoners must remove themselves from the windows
or be shot. Soldiers were lined up and volleys were fired at the defiant
prisoners. Most of the shots were deliberately wide. We gave in,
however, and came down from the windows; in later days it was not
healthy to reappear as the Stater soldiers were only too willing to take a
pot shot.

We had been placed in ‘D’ wing of the prison. No sooner were we all
together than we commenced burrowing through the brick walls from
cell to cell. This made discipline impossible for the Free Staters,
though it also made privacy impossible for those of us who occasionally
wanted to retreat into it. Shortly after that both sides concluded a
temporary and short-lived truce. We would move into ‘C’ wing, where
the cell walls were still inviolate, and where those of us who valued a
short spell of privacy could enjoy it. But we did not want absolute
privacy, nor did we relish the thought of being locked in. We put our
cell doors out of action by the simple expedient of wedging the Bible
between the hinged door and the frame. That made it impossible to
close it into its rebate, and only a very big job could rectify it.

Rory O’Connor. Liam Mellows. Joe McKelvey, Tom Barry and I,
all members of the I.R.A. Executive, came together a good deal as a
sort of camp council. Barry’s only thought all the time was to escape.
Perhaps he had a premonition of what could happen to him if he
remained. Actually we all had the notion to excape, and had begun to
dig a tunnel. But Barry could not wait, and finally made a bid for
freedom in a Free State Army coat. He was within an ace of success
when they copped him. So they moved him to Gormanstown Camp;

PEADAR O’DONNELL

and that was their undoing, because he walked straight across the
camp, on his first day there, and crawled out under a few convenient
loose loops of barbed wire on the other side, the blind side, when no
one happened to be looking. Barry was like that, like lightning. If he
saw a chance, he took it. Who was it said the Staters had not yet
learned to make barbed wire entanglements properly? More and more
prisoners came trooping in as the weeks went by. The four wings of the
prison were given to us, A wing, B, C and D, all radiating from the
granite-flagged Circle, where the triangle of Brendan Behan's song,
“The Ould Triangle” still hangs. Anyone who has been in the Joy
knows the military simplicity of its layout. A warder standing in the
Circle can see to the furthermost end of all the wings.

Paudeen O'Keeffe, formerly Secretary of Sinn Fein, was now the
Deputy Governor, under the recently appointed Phil Cosgrave,
wayward brother of the new state's Prime Minister. A tubby, little man
in a Free State captain's uniform, he was more a figure of fun for most
of us than one that we could take seriously. Flashes of crude humour,
alternated with curses and epithets, from him. One night, after a
count, when we had presented two prisoners whom heretofore we had
kept hidden, he approached the six-foot, two-inch Andy Cooney, our
O.C., and shrieked: Jasus, Cooney , which of ye had twins?

It was his task to rouse Rory O'Connor, Liam Mellows, Dick Barrett
and Joe McKelvey on the morning of the 8th December, and inform
them that they were about to be executed as another batch in a long
line of hostages, now being slain as reprisals up and down the State. It
cannot have been a task he relished, even for one like him sold body
and soul to the Free State. It was the first experience in his prison of a
reprisal execution. The executions were decided upon by the Free
State Cabinet on the afternoon of the 7th December, following the
shooting of a Dail member, Sean Hales, and the wounding of another,
Padraic O Maille, as a solemn warning to those engaged in the
conspiracy of assassination against the representatives of the Irish
people. In The Gates Flew Open , my account of these times, I say in the
introduction that I have been tempted to include the account by one
who was present at the Cabinet Meeting, which set out what passed
there from the first stunned silence that met the proposal that Dick
Barrett, Joe McKelvey, Liam Mellows and Rory O’Connor be shot,
through the tough resistance of certain Ministers, down to the final
silence that let the proposal through. Few among those who were
senior officers in the I.R.A. at the time, I added would go wrong in
naming who made the proposal, but I doubted very much if anyone
among them would be right, even fifth guess, in naming who raised the
first voice in support of it. You now ask me who these men were?

PEADAR O'DONNELL

Mulcahy proposed it, and Eoin MacNeill(l) seconded it. He was
extremely bitter. The person who held out most on the thing was Kevin
0*Higgins.(2)

Executions

Dick Barrett was a very likeable person. So little has been written
about him that I felt I should make up for it in my book. Loveable —
the most loveable of men, (we had no inhibitions about our adjectives)
— was what I said of him then. He had been on his way to London to
attempt a rescue of Dunne and O’Sullivan, who were under sentence
of death for the assassination of Sir Henry Wilson.(3) On the night of
the ultimatum to the Four Courts, he turned aside and entered it. That
was to be his undoing. Barrett’s was a keen, searching mind with a
strong conspiratorial genius. He was easily the most dangerous, to the
individual members of the Free State Cabinet, of all the minds in C
Wing. He had been very close to Collins, and told a few of us on two or
three occasions, that it was very unlikely that he would be left live. He
once gave an account of a talk between himself and Collins at which
Collins had stated his plans in detail; he would operate a dark hand ,
and according as undesirables pushed their way forward, the dark
hand would assassinate them. From Barrett I got a picture of Collins
that always made him a tragedy to me. Without any guidance except
his own turbulent nationalism, with the weakness for intrigue and
conspiracy that secret societies breed, he confused the conquest with
the mere occupation of the country. He failed to recognise that
military occupation was merely to make imperial exploitation
possible, and so he guaranteed to safeguard the exploiting interests, if
the soldiers were withdrawn, without recognising that he was thus
making himself a bailiff for the Conquest. He confused the bellowing
of the group who were leaving office with imperial resentment, and he
mistook the cheering of the new throng of office seekers with the tramp
of the national masses returning into possession of their inheritance.
When British soldiers marched out of Athlone, and Sean McKeon
came riding in on a gun carriage the British had loaned him, Collins
huzzaed with The Irish Independent:

“Ireland’s Won — Athlone is Taken*’

He emerged from the Tan struggle with the outlook of a ‘Fenian Home
Ruler* and the code of a tinker swapping donkeys at a fair. I questioned
Barrett a good deal about Collins; his knowledge of him was unusual
for he had been very close, sharing the same lodgings for lengthy
periods, and their minds had the same deep conspiratorial instinct, but
informed in Barrett’s case with a keen intellect. He was immensely
popular with us.

PEADAR O'DONNELL

Little has been written of Joe McKelvey. He was a Belfast man of
Donegal stock. He was sturdy in build, of enormous strength and
reckless courage. He was an unyielding opponent, but not a dangerous
enemy for he was incapable of deep hatred. He was predestined to be a
martyr in a revolutionary movement that failed, for he would not
dodge and he could not bend. It was around these days that The Gadfly
was being read in C Wing. It is a tale of Italian revolution with a ghastly
execution scene. This book made such a deep impression on McKelvey
that he often commented on it and expressed the hope that if ever he
had to face the firing party, his killing would be more efficiently carried
out than in the case of the Gadfly. At the end of a talk I had with him
that evening — we had heard of the shooting in Dublin that day.
though lor us it was just like any other day in jail — he rolled over and
leaning from his bed. picked up the copy of Gadfly from the pile that
lay beside hint, God, / hope they don’t mess up any of our lads this way,
he remarked, as he glanced again at the cover. He was to get time to
remember that next morning.

But there was no impending sense of doom. Why should there be?
We were all ‘clean’. We had been in the Joy five months and could not
have taken part in policy-making outside. A tunnel was approaching us
from a house in Olengariff Parade, and we were all keyed up for that.
We expected a rod to pop up in the exercise yard any day. Mellows
was, intellectually speaking, ready for it too; he had drafted his Notes
From Mount joy , and although these were only the bare bones of a
social policy, they showed that the glimmerings of a successor to James
Connolly was at last present in our midst. No, that evening, things
proceeded as always. I played two rubbers of bridge with Barrett, Tom
MacMahon and Andy Cooney. We had no cigarettes; the three of
them shared short jerks upon a butt. About eight o’clock I went into a
debate Women in Industry — Equal Pay for Equal Work; there
were about twelve present. Nothing memorable was said, I looked up
and saw Barrett at the top landing. He was leaning and looking away
out like a countryman gazing off upon a wet day, or in the shade of a
line summer’s evening. As I passed Mellows’ door, I told him a Mutt
and Jeff joke. He chuckled as he related it to McKelvey.

They were not shot until after eight thirty in the morning. A chaplain
was working upon Mellows to obtain his contrition, before giving him
absolution. I always associate that sort of annoyance with the forcible
feeding that killed Thomas Ashe. Shortly after that they were led out.

I he girls in the women s part of Mountjoy had been told to expect an
execution. Alter that first volley, they listened in silence. They
counted nine single shots.(4) McKelvey had time to remember the
Gadfly. Years after, when I was out again, I said to Paudeen O’Keeffe:

PEADAR O’DONNELL

There is a story you must tell , the last hours of the four Says he: I don't
know it. I came in late , about one o'clock , went to bed in the same room
as Phil Cosgrave. I was wakened up with a flashlight in my face. / was
given the names of these four men. / went along and brought them out.
When / returned to the room with Phil , we found two bottles of whiskey
on the table. That is all I remember of the events of that morning. Eight
years after, I was on the top of a Dublin tram and saw there a military
policeman whom I knew had been on duty. Had he witnessed the
shooting? He had. He gave me this little detail. As Barrett walked
forward from the jail door, accompanied by the other three, he struck
up The Top of Cork Road. It was so like him for courage. He had a
poor voice, but he was going to liberate the only thing left to him, and
throw a dubhshldn in the teeth of the enemy.

After the removal of Andy Cooney to a prison camp, I was
appointed O.C. Within months I was moved with a batch to Tintown
No. 1, on the Curragh, where my brother, Joe, was a prisoner. There
were 600 there already. Again I was made O.C. The one really
memorable feature of life in that camp was that we had a rule that
everyone must be out of bed by 8 a.m. and it stuck.

We had done miserably in the 1922 election and no wonder. A year
later we bettered our position by eight seats. Some of us prisoners were
elected to a Dail that we would not sit in. I was returned for my native
Tirconaill. It was really fantastic that, after a military defeat and with
our best people in jail, the country responded so strongly. We went
half wild with delight. They were whacked; we hadn’t lost. Tiredness
was cast off like on old coat and a new enthusiasm sparkled
everywhere. We felt that release was now a remote thing. There was
too much resistance left in the country to risk letting us loose.

I was now twenty-one months in various bits of jails; back to the Joy
for some months, then on to Finner in Donegal, where I was held as
some kind of a hostage. It was nothing new for an O’Donnell to be held
as a hostage. I was there, I knew, because my brother, Frank, kept a
flicker of Republicanism smouldering like the griosach on the hills of
Tirconaill. And if I escaped, my younger brother, Joe, would be
brought a prisoner from Newbridge in my place. The period of
vengeance and terrorism was on. They would strike at Joe more
readily than they would strike at me. Being killed is a painful process
which I would have hated to pass on to Joe. No, I would stick it out,
despite the fc4 no books” rule and the bleak military police who searched
my person daily. One thing I could do, and I did. I got a note out to
Frank with a list of people appended; Shoot them if they shoot me. My
future wife, Lile, went a step further. Presenting herself one day in
Dublin at the head-office of the Labour Party, she got an interview —
as a Miss l'Estrange — with Tom Johnston, its secretary. Once upon a

PEADAR O'DONNELL

time, he had helped us write the Democratic Programme of the First
Dail, but that was four years and a bit ago. These days he had copper-
fastened the Staters with his last bob on the State speech, that we
regarded as a direct incitement to further executions. Leaning
forward, and peeling off a glove as she did so, she whispered: I called to
tell you, Mr. Johnston, that you will be shot if Peadar O’Donnell is
murdered in Finner. I lived to tell the tale, but who knows?

There were hundreds of hostages being held from Drumboe to
Tralee. Between hostages and executions, I have no doubt that it
helped snuff out the Civil War. What will for fighting there was in
Republicans, was broken by the ironclad authority of their opponents.

What resistance was left, we nearly broke ourselves, by our decision
to have a mass hunger-strike. No one was ordered on to it, but then no
one felt they could stay off it. It started on October 10th in Mountjoy,
to which I had returned, and went on for forty one days. Forty one days
is a long time to be hungry. There is an idea abroad that after ten or
twelve days the hunger is dulled. I do not think that is so. I was hungry
for thirty days, and even after the forty first day. when it was called off,
you should have seen me let down the first egg flip.

Freedom

All the time, even on hunger strike, I was obsessed with the desire to
escape. I escaped on the 16th March, 1924, from the Curragh. It was
ten months after the Civil War; ten months after the “Dump Arms”.
Military victory must be allowed to rest for the moment with those who
have destroyed the Republic, as De Valera said. His tactic was in effect:
Dump the arms and go home, like the youngsters did after Vinegar Hill,
and let them do their damnedest. And that is exactly what the I.R.A.
did. There never was an end to that struggle. It may be said I was due
for release anyway, but even if I knew I could go tomorrow I would
rather escape today.

I was then stationed at Harepark camp on the Curragh, the dregs of
the Republic, the hard core, the Staters would have called us. The last
few hundred of the original eleven thousand they had mopped up.
Anyway, about that escape; I left my hut about three o’clock, wearing
Dr. Comer’s brown boots, Ned Bofin’s brown leggings and a green top
coat and peaked cap. I walked to the prison gates and they were flung
open. The first set and then the second. I headed off in the dark to the
south east. Two days later I was hiding under the rafters of Tony
Woods house at 131 Morehampton Road, when police came across
the roots, searching for Free State Army mutineers. It was a change for
them to be hunted, not me.

PEADAR O’DONNELL

From March 1924 until March 1934, I was on the Executive — the
twelve man body — and for most of that time, the seven man Army
Council of the I.R.A. I had been editor of An tOglach , the Army
newsheet. In April, 1926, I was appointed editor of the weekly An
Phoblacht , founded by De Valera in 1925. Its first issue contained a
signed article from President De Valera, an appeal by Maud Gonne on
behalf of eighty prisoners held in Irish and English jails, articles by
Hannah Sheehy-Skeffington, Fr. Michael O’Flanagan and others. We
were not parochial; we turned our minds to other nations, to
happenings in the world of art, literary criticism and the theatre. We
welcomed O’Casey’s 5/7 ver Tassie when the Abbey rejected it, and we
praised the new technique of Jack Yeats, when the art world would
scarcely pay twenty pounds for his pictures. We were hunted and
harried all the time; our “library” was preserved only by being kept in
a secret room at Marlborough Road.

In 1926 Fianna Fail was founded by De Valera. Now others can say
what they like, but I always found him a reasonable man, a man I could
talk to. They took all the radical and worthwhile elements from Sinn
Fein, leaving a minority of conservatives behind. My policy as editor of
An Phoblacht thereafter was a response to this. I knew there was more
radical content in Fianna Fail than there was in any other organisation.

You ask about some of the personalities of those days. Countess
Markievicz was really at home in any company. She could listen to a
docker talking his language while she spoke back in hers. She never
blanched no matter what expressions he used. Mick Price was a man
given to great shifts. When his mother died, because of Church
attitudes in the past, he refused to enter the building. The next thing he
was O.C. Dublin, and every company had to salute any church they
passed.

Frank Ryan was a very genial character, very popular with the
Dublin crowd; a great man on Armistice Day, the 11th November.
David Fitzgerald and I wrote most of the documents for Saor Eire. I
threw my whole weight behind it, though I realised any movement that
did not have a working class vanguard could not achieve much. Saor
Eire was the innocence of the countryman rather than revolutionary
sense. I put forward the idea of a Republican Congress at an Army
Convention held in a hotel in Glendalough in 1932. Nobody supported
me.

On Revolution

My viewpoint when I returned to West Donegal, in late 1925, and
discovered the threats made to put the bailiff in on the small farms who
had withheld payment of their annuities since 1919, was that this was a

PEADAR O’DONNELL

point of rallying. Here was a tax directly favourable to Britain. If you
could get the people to resist this, you could drag the Free State Army
into warfare against the people, and they would be bound to lose But I
cou!d not get our Army Executive to take part, though I used An
rhoblacht vigorously. Moss Twomey was closer to me than any of the
rural men. The thing that held him back was that he was a great
organiser, and the unity of the organisation was all important to him
My only constant support on these issues was from George Gilmore.

Fianna Fail did not openly support us either, until much later Sean
Lemass said to me at the bottom of Grafton Street: Don’t you see that
we stand to gain from your organisation so long as we cannot be accused
of starting the turmoil. When eventually De Valera was dragged on to
our platform in Ennis in 1931, I was immensely pleased. I was glad to
let Fianna Fail take control of it. It was quite clear to me that, in the
absence of I.R.A. support, our small minority would be crucified. But
I was conscious that I was handing away a trump card.

I realised when Fianna Fail came to power in 1932 that the I R A
had no meaning as an armed force. They could offer so many
concessions to the Republican viewpoint that it was bound to blur the
issues that still divided us. But it would reinforce more than ever my
early belief that a government was permitted in Dublin only so long as
it remained a bailiff for the Conquest.

In the autumn of 1931, the I.R.A., under Cosgrave pressures,
considered again an appeal to arms. It was clear to me after the victory
of Fianna Fail in February, 1932, that any such action would have been
misunderstood. We. therefore, supported Fianna Fail in 1932 and
1933, but from separate platforms. I now resolved that the structure of
the I. R. A. must be changed so that we could mobilise all the forces for
independence. That was our inspiration in founding Republican
Congress. To your question about the split which occurred in Congress
in Rathmines in September, 1934, on the Workers’ Republic issue, I
think now that I made a mistake. I realised that as an objective, it was a
wrong slogan, but I think I should have let them have their way.
Support could have been obtained from the grass roots. The
backwardness of the British Trade Union movement, then and now,
has a lot to do with the situation in Ireland. Somewhere out the road of
the future, the English Monarchy will go in the eventual revolution of
Britain. With it, will go the feudal structure of North East Ulster, and
the unity of the country will be attained. It is an illusion to suppose that
you can have a peaceful society under the capitalist order — just by
improving social welfare — that is nonsense. Until that is realised,
there can be no hope of a revolution here. If, however, any of the West
European powers, France or Germany, went communist, it could pull
down the whole structure here. From each according to his ability ;

PEADAR O'DONNELL

to each according to his needs , is the slogan. We are a long way from
that. There are two factors always in a successful revolutionary
situation, the subjective factor — which was good in 1916 — and the
objective factor; namely the forces opposed to you, which was bad.
Lenin’s leadership provided a sound subjective factor, and with
retreating armies and a broken front, he had a perfect objective factor
as well.

Early in 1922, Republicans had the ball at their feet, the right
objective situation, but the subjective aspect, namely the leadership
failed. The growth of the working class factor in the world will bring
about a change to the Russian and Cuban pattern. That is coming
objectively.

In 1962, I wrote to Dan Breen about that. I said, Dan, with all this
talk about the Americans in Vietnam, there should be an Irish voice in
the chorus. The only two people in this country , who can be called on is
yourself and myself Very modestly we called ourselves. The Irish
Voice on Vietnam. I went to Dan with a copy of the protest letter we
were to hand in to the American Embassy. I commenced to read it. He
stopped me abruptly: What are you doing? said he; Sure any bloody
letter you sign, I'll sign.

REFERENCES

1 By an extraordinary coincidence Eoin MacNeill was present in Cross Avenue,
Blackrock, on the morning of July 9th, when Kevin O'Higgins was assassinated. He
scribbled the number of a suspect car in his diary. O’Higgins was brought to his home
where he had time to dictate his will to MacNeill before he expired.

Irish Times 10-7-1927

2 Kevin O’Higgins was a nephew of Tim Healy, the acid tongued parliamentarian
and First Free State Governor General. O'Higgins was an ex-Maynooth boy, showing
great forensic talent. Before the Truce he had been a diehard Republican. His father,
the local doctor in Stradbally, but a strong Free Stater, was assassinated in the hallway
of his home in 1923. The three who shot Kevin were Billy Gannon, Archie Doyle and
Tim Coughlan, all Dubliners.

3 An assassination ordered and directed by Michael Collins, before he became a
Free State Cabinet Minister. The attack on the Four Courts was precipitated by the
arrest of Ginger O’Connell by MacBridc and O’Malley in retaliation for the arrest of
Les Henderson following a raid on Ferguson’s Motors in Baggot St. The British had
already decided it should be attacked, but their hand was stayed by Gen. Macready. See
Sheila Lawlor 1983 Britain and Ireland 19/4-1921.

4 Account of Sheila Humphreys, Bean Uf Dhonnchadha. McKelvey’s father had
been in the R.I.C. stationed at Springfield Road, Belfast.

Maire

Comerford

My family hail from Rathdrum in Co. Wicklow. My father, James
Comerford, was co-owner with his brother, Owen, of Comerford's
Mills, upon which the present day grain stores are sited. There was no
politics in our home, absolutely none. My mother was an Esmonde
from Wexford. Her father was a V.C. in the British Army, an honour
received from the Crimean War of 1854. When he returned to Ireland,
a niche was made for him in the Royal Irish Constabulary, and shortly
after that he was promoted Deputy Chief Inspector. Much of his time
thereafter was spent in Belfast, which perhaps accounts for my interest
in that city. The riots and pogroms which have been a constant feature
of warfare against Catholics there were only then beginning. My
grandfather, being a Catholic, was accused by bigoted Orange leaders
of having secret Fenian sympathies. His family were members of a
branch of the Esmondes, a minor tier of the Anglo Irish Catholic
aristocracy of those days. I did not agree with their politics, and I was
delighted when we beat them much later in Sinn Fein.

The Comerfords came originally from Ballinakill in Laois. There is a
’98 monument there, the top name upon which is a Comerford. Our
people moved from there, more than a hundred and fifty years ago, to
Rathdrum where they built a mill upon the Avonmore. They opened
another mill further up the same river at Laragh; in those days, with
horse-drawn transport, mills had to be conveniently located. They
were extremely successful, building a very fine residence, and finding
time even to invent more advanced milling machinery, the rights of
which they sold. The invention. I was told, was concerned with
balancing the great stones used in the grinding process. I have put
material about these inventions in the National Library.

Parnell was a contemporary to within a year or so of my father. They
were personal friends. He used to drop into the mill and would express
envy at how engrossed they were in their work, and how removed their

MAIRE COMERFORD

world was from the hurly burly of political affairs. Parnell had come
down from Cambridge. He was a captain of the local cricket team on
which my father played. He could be a difficult and dictatorial captain.
That was before he entered politics. The Parnell residence at
Avondale adjoins Rathdrum. It was always a pleasant walk on a
Sunday, for people to stroll there from the village, up the long tree-
lined avenue, hoping to catch a glimpse of Parnell.

With the quickening tempo of industrial advance that now began,
my father’s affairs did not prosper. The European roller grinding
method came in, followed by the introduction of bleaching agents for
whitening the flour. My father disapproved strongly of this process and
refused to use it. Meanwhile our Rathdrum mill was burned. Insurance
was rare in those days and he did not have any. This slide into recession
commenced about the time that he married in the nineties of the last
century. The result was that when I was born in 1893, I came into a
home that had already slipped below the high tide of prosperity.

A Secretarial Career

My father died when I was sixteen, leaving four children, three of
them younger than I. He had been a partner only in the mill, and had
few other assets. My mother had to go to law to obtain her share; the
amount realised in the end being only four thousand pounds. When
father was alive, she had half of that, a comfortable sum then, for her
annual housekeeping. I was therefore the first of the Esmondes to be
told that, when I grew up, I would have to go and earn my own living.
What she had in mind was a brilliant secretarial career, with somebody
important, where I would have an opportunity of meeting very
influential people. It was very advanced thinking for those times.

My mother had been lady tennis champion of Ireland for a few
years. She knew many people. Around the year 1911 therefore, I was
packed off to London to the recently opened school of a Miss
Gradwell. This lady came from Co. Meath. She was a black, bitter
Protestant. For shorthand dictation, she read out to the class excerpts
from the speeches of Sir Edward Carson, who was then roundly
attacking the Liberal Government’s policy of granting Home Rule to
Ireland. Presuming that I, being a Catholic, must disagree with these,
she would turn on me and in a fury ask: What have you to say to that?
But I would have nothing to say. I was quite ignorant of politics. Father
had never spoken of Parnell, and everything of that time. Home Rule,
Sinn Fein, the Gaelic League, had passed me by.

Miss Gradwell’s constant prodding however rankled me. I resolved
to read something of Irish history. I went to the best bookshop in
London and bought a whole lot of volumes. I have them still — Lecky’s

MAIRE COMERFORD

History, T. D. Sullivan’s “Story of Ireland”, a wonderful book by Paul
Dubois, and others. I stayed in a ladies’ club in Eccles Place. They
were an extraordinary lot there; the conversation was forever
centering upon table-turning and spiritualism. One of these ladies
asked me once if I would mind posing for her in the nude. Another
sought to read my hand, but stopped immediately. It is the most
unlucky hand I have seen in a lifetime , she declared. As a result, I was
driven to take refuge in my room, in my books. I read them during
every spare moment that I had. I had my bicycle with me. I would cycle
along Park Lane and gaze at the great mansions, many of them built
with the proceeds of Irish rents. I resolved to leave London, throw
over the idea of becoming a secretary there, and return to Ireland. It
was spontaneous combustion; I was feeling more deeply about
national things; I had no one to influence me save my books.

My uncle, T. L. Esmonde, was a founder of the Wexford meat
industry. He was drowned later on the mailboat Leinster when it was
torpedoed on October 10th 1918. We lived in his house, supported by
him I suppose. My mother had not much money. It was the heyday of
Horace Plunkett's co-operative movement, and of the United
Irishwomen , forerunners of the Irish Countrywomen's Association. I
got heavily involved with both of these.

There was far less dividing Plunkett and the nationalist movement,
James Connolly and the cultural revival, than one imagines. Connolly
wrote much of co-operation, and Plunkett advised his followers to join
the Gaelic League. My uncle was keen on Plunkett. I still have a copy
of his little pamphlet Noblesse Oblige, which advised the landlords and
the big landowners to promote co-operation. He was pleading with
them to put their knowledge at the disposal of the new rural land
owning community, now fast growing up. How deeply Imperial
Plunkett could be, came out afterwards, when he established his
league for promoting Dominion Home Rule, and later still when he
supported the Free State. He was however, with Lord Midleton, Lord
Monteagle, Stephen Gwynn and others, a consistent opponent of the
partition of Ireland. He knew it would emasculate the Protestants of
the South, leaving them a dwindling and dying community, which it
has done. At that time there was one-third the number of Protestants
in the South as there are in the North. In many parts of rural Ireland, in
Cork, the Midlands, Dublin, as well as the Ulster counties, there were
thriving communities with a full church on Sundays. Not so today.

Supporters of Redmond

Social life in rural Wexford was very limited at that time. Dancing
was frowned upon by the clergy, though they were much more lenient

MAIRE COMERFORD

where ceilis were concerned. The United Irishwomen therefore tried to
brighten up the countryside in other ways, by holding craft classes,
shows, ceilis, prizes for baking and so on. We helped in all that.

Fr. Sweetman had started his school at Mount St. Benedict, near
Gorey. He was forward-looking in religion as well as in education. My
brothers were sent to it. The Great War had commenced at this time
and the Germans had over-run little Belgium. We were totally
obsessed by the fate of Belgium to the exclusion of everything else. We
used to go out to the mountain seeking spagnum moss, as we had been
told it was a good substitute for cotton wool, of which there was a
shortage. Belgian refugees arrived in Wexford. I spent some time
looking after them. At that time Sean Etchingham was in Courtown
and, although a Republican, he was a great friend of my mother. We
were apolitical, although we supported Home Rule. We read accounts
in the newspapers of the plea by John Redmond that September at
Woodenbridge for the Volunteers to go out and fight. I followed the
war keenly in the articles of Hilaire Belloc, then a war correspondant.
When, therefore, a fortnight later, Redmond announced that he was
bringing Home Rule to Wexford town, I persuaded my mother and
one of my aunts to squeeze into the excursion train with me, and go
there. We were both on his platform. I have still a picture of myself on
Redmond’s platform with a big white hat on.

Down in the crowd Sean Etchingham, Sean T. O’Kelly and Greg
Murphy were busily handing out anti-recruiting literature. When the
crowd realised what it was, they turned sour and pushed them away. I
could see this happening from the platform; I little knew they would be
my friends afterwards. They had come to Wexford that day, bringing
some of the Kilcoole guns with them. My brother joined the British
Army, the Munster Fusiliers, at the age of seventeen. He was wounded
at Suvla Bay in April, 1915, and returned on a troopship to Ireland.
There must have been adverse reports about me already, possibly from
a Major Richards who blew in from the North, and was a Master of
Foxhounds locally, but one whom I considered might be an
intelligence officer. Anyway my brother was asked about me. He was
later transferred to the Inniskilling Dragoons. Somehow he was never
able to get the promotion he considered himself entitled to. He
survived the war and resided in England until his death.

My mother meanwhile, with her dwindling fortune, rented a house
in Courtown, with the intention of having there a private school for
girls. She was encouraged in this by Fr. Sweetman, who hoped that
some of the sisters of his pupils might go there. She gave me the option
of going off finally as a secretary, or remaining as a teacher with her. I
decided I would do that. I was all set therefore for a quiet life hence¬
forth in a backwater of County Wexford, when something happened
which, not alone changed my life, but altered the course of the nation.

MAIRE COMERFORD

Dublin in Easter Week

I had wanted to see Dublin again. Easter was approaching. [
arranged therefore to spend the holidays with a cousin of my mother,
Maud Mansfield, who lived alone in a big house in Rathgar. She was
crippled with arthritis and could do only light housework. A daily maid
visited her. I was invited out on Easter Monday to other cousins who
lived in Blackrock. About ten o’clock on that morning, I left the house
in Rathgar and travelled on the tram city-wards, intending to catch the
Blackrock tram at Nassau Street. Near the top of Grafton Street I saw
Volunteers and soldiers of the Citizen Army marching up. They were
followed by officers on a side car. They were the party, whom ! later
learned, occupied Stephens Green and the College of Surgeons under
Michael Mallin and Countess Markievicz. Of course I had no inkling of
what was going to happen. Volunteer parades were frequent enough,
ft was a bright cheery day with people moving about in their springtime
best.

I continued on my way. I got my tram to Blackrock, where I had
lunch with the family. When I emerged to return at about three
o’clock, I found people all gathered in knots.

I did not know my way about Dublin. I could return only the way
that I had come. This would not bring me across the centre of the city,
but it would convey me close to it. The streets of Dublin are running
with blood, I heard some say. Everyone was being a neighbour to
everyone else; some were tipsy. When they heard where I lived, they
told me, oh you can't go home that way, and directed me through
C’lonskeagh. But I knew only the way the tram had brought me, so I
walked back that way, right into Lower Mount Street, and along
Merrion Square to Grafton Street.

Mount Street that day was quiet. The posts outlying from Bolands,
that were later the scene of such bloody activity, had not been
occupied. People were standing around doors on the south side of the
street. A soldier was moving cautiously along the other side; they
shouted to him, you will be shot, although I don’t think there was much
danger.

At Trinity railings, I could hear shooting as I moved along. At the
bottom of Grafton Street, I headed up that street. There were plenty of
people still about. At the corner of Wicklow Street, they were glued
against the wall, peeping out, up and down the street. I came to
Stephens Green. There was a barricade below the College of
Surgeons. The Volunteers were inside the railings. I made my way
along the North, East and the South sides oTthe Green, as far away
from the College as possible.

I was becoming more and more curious. When I came the whole way
round to the bottom of Harcourt Street, I went over and spoke to the

MAIRE COMERFORD

sentry there. He wasa young fellow. He told me quite a lot about it. He
told me that Countess Markievicz was inside. Now I knew a certain
amount of Irish history, though I had always been taught that a
successful rebellion against England was impossible. When however
you saw the flag of an Irish Republic flying for the first time on the
College of Surgeons, and you spoke to a young Volunteer of your own
age, it began to seem quite different. He said, would I like to come in? I
thought of my poor old cousin, so I said weakly. No; but / will be back
in the morning.

We got a side car at the top of Harcourt Street and went home from
there. But each morning after that, I made Mass the excuse for getting
out again. I made my way once more towards the centre. At Harcourt
Street I saw where Margaret Skinnider had been wounded. I bumped
into an old cousin of mine in a doorway there. She was one of the
Decies of Westmeath. A cultured Victorian, far above our standard of
living, she knew many of the leadership, Pearse, Plunkett and Thomas
MacDonagh. Crouched in the doorway, she went into enormous detail
about their lives, their achievements and their literary work. They
were Separatists and I had never known them. I was lapping up all this
information while she wept openly for them. Goodbye forever , she
seemed to say, to people she considered were betraying the Empire.
At the same time it was my first introduction to them. It was a very
funny experience. I never met her again.

I continued cautiously around the Green. I saw soldiers bring a
machine-gun into the Shelbourne Hotel. There was a dead horse on
the road. I went down Kildare Street, and continued on until I reached
O'Connell Bridge. There was a large jittery group there. Then we all
moved over, but someone came out of the G.P.O. and waved us back.
Next I saw the green flag on Liberty Hall. I can still remember funny
flashbacks from that day, like the large red plush three-piece suite,
sitting incongruously outside a shop window, where someone had been
interrupted in the act of looting it.

I was scouting thus every day, until my shoes wore out. Some days I
met women carrying sacks of things, very tired looking women. I
helped a few of them. While talking to them, I heard of the killings by
the British Army around North King Street. That was away from
where we were, but news like that travels fast. Food was becoming
scarce. Maud Mansfield asked me to accompany this old neighbour to
Bewleys, in the hope of obtaining some butter. She was denouncing
everything that was happening as we walked along, so I just had to
keep my peace. Bewleys at that time had their farm at the end of Bushy
Park Road, where there is a cul de sac now, overlooking the north
bank of the Dodder. I had said to her, purely to make conversation,
that my mother would love to have a cow. We had no sooner entered

MAIRE COMERFORD

the dairy, than she addressed Mr. Ernest Bewiey who was there in a
whuecoa, and with a very red face: n a ,oun g Zyll7/£o bu y a
' “ He rubbed his hands briskly, as though this was an everyday
request. Please go around to the rere, he said, and my steward will show
you the cows. So I was conducted around, and for the next twenty
minutes had to spend my time looking at cows.

, !5 3l i 8ht 3 tr3 ' n k* ck to Gore y °n the Monday or Tuesday. It was one
of the first, and it brought what reports there were of the Rising. I was
going along by Cooks Arcade in the main street, when 8 1 was
approached by people anxious for news. We heard you were in the thick

irf North^Kbi® I was fu ^' of,t 3,1 b y this time. 1 told them of the killings
the nennlp rh re< r-i, a ^ in ^ 8reat slress upon the defencelessness of
fnLSrJP™ [ e - was 3 latJ y on thc outskirts. She rushed

I JX p d ‘ Theyshoulciallbekllle d. executed, shot, she shouted. She was
Lady Errington, widow of a former British Ambassador in Rome who
had connived successfully against the Land League From that
moment, the people I had known, with only a handful of exceptions

«££££££ “• 1 was a P 01 "” 310 ' ,, “ s, and 1 t °“" d “W

From the time I returned to Gorey. my only thought was to get back
Jom ? he Mov ement. The executions which now followed
swiftly, heightened my resolve. As soon as I could, I joined the local
branch of Sinn Fern, where I found people already flocking into it One
ot the people I was concerned with at that time was Sean Etchingham.

fnr ° Ut ' n ^ 3S ! er Week in Enniscorthy, he was later Minister

k r Fisheries in the Dail, and he stayed with the Republic in the Civil
War, or as I prefer to call it, the Counter Revolution
I had left Wexford and returned to Dublin shortly before the great
election of December 1918 was won by Sinn Fein. We worked might
and main for that. Roger Sweetman. our local candidate, was elected
I obtained a post meanwhile with Alice Stopford Green, the historian :
it was a post that gave me time to play a minor part in the people’s
revolution. I did not remain long as we had too many arguments. I was
in the Round Room of the Mansion House on January 21st 1919 on
the day that Ireland’s Declaration of Independence was read in Irish
and English and passed unanimously by the assembled thirtvseven
members.(l) 3

Significantly, for me afterwards, neither Eamonn De Valera nor
Arthur Griffith were present. Both were in prison, although De Valera
escaped from Lincoln Jail two weeks later, and Arthur Griffith was
released shortly after that. I often wonder would We have been allowed
adopt such a forthright Declaration of Independence, coupled with the
Democratic Programme, had they been present.(2)

I had no full-time post in either Sinn Fein or Cumann na mBan but

MAIRE COMERFORD

I participated to the full henceforward in all their activities. 1 oscillated
as a worker and a courier in the principal offices, or to and fro between
the military and political leadership in Dublin and surrounding areas.
In this way I came to know many of the leadership.

Collins and the Castle „, .

Cathal Brugha stayed above ground most of the time. He was on the
run, but he managed to stay at his business as a trade representative.
He did not accept any salary from the Dail. His office was along the
quays He rode a Pierce bicycle, an Irish-made one. Collins rode a high
Lucania They all rode bicycles and moved fairly freely. Brugha was
verv kind, humble and gentle, but he was a disaster as an
administrator. He was accommodating however when it came to
finding a place for him to stay. Mrs. Humphreys told me that, unlike
Richard Mulcahy. who, for security reasons, wanted a new place every
week. But such places could not be found. He was. therefore, very
difficult. He did not like other people on the run staying in the same
place. Brugha however would not mind.

The British Government was unsure what to do about people who
were supposed to be politicians, but who were also engaged in fighting
them. They did not ban Dail Eireann until September 10th 1919.
Griffith was absolutely openly around and could have been picked up
any time They had a bad description of Collins: they did not know he
was as dark as he was. They thought he was fair. From the beginning of
1920 when Cope was appointed Under Secretary for Ireland, Collins
was in touch directly with the Castle. There was a ‘hot line - between
them Gogarty, for instance, tells of De Valera receiving a phone call
from the Castle direct to Dr. Farnham in Merrion Square. In a war
such arrangements sometimes exist. I am convinced that John
Chartres, the Englishman who joined us at that time, and who
accompanied the Treaty delegation as a secretary, was a plant by the
British. His wife accompanied Sean T. O'Kelly in the Peace delegation
to Paris early in 1919, which, if he was a plant, would make her position
an unusually significant one. They went out of their way to promote
the reputation of Michael Collins far beyond what he seemed to
deserve. So while the Upper Castle Yard was having its dealings with
Collins, the Lower Castle Yard was having dealings of another sort. It
was after him with the Murder Gang. He was however a very cool
customer with plenty of nerve. It was a problem getting safe, secure
offices because we now had a staff of some hundreds. Sinn Fein bought
a number of houses. One I remember was in St. Mary’s Road, off
Northumberland Road. Mrs. Woods said to me: Now our only
problem is to find someone who will be Michael Collins' aunt.

MAIRE COMERFORD

Without thinking, I chirped up. Oh my mother will do that. They all
looked at me; If she would, it will he splendid. She was living then in my
uncle’s home in Enniscorthy, where she had absolutely nothing to do. I
sent her a telegram: Come at once. She thought something frightful
had happened to me. She arrived by the next train in a state of agitation.
She was quite happy when she saw I was alright. You are to be Michael
Collins' aunt for a bit, I said simply. She was so relieved that she did not
mind. The arrangement lasted only a few weeks. She had been lady
captain of Greystones Golf Club and had a number of tennis cups, so
perhaps she was not the best person as she was really quite well known.

As regards popular support for our objectives, my experience was
that it was total. 1 remember going up Grafton Street on my bicycle
with a load of guns wrapped in sacking on the carrier. The load began
to shift sideways. I was having difficulty so I hopped off. A man driving
a horse jumped from his cart and came over, leaving the horse to walk
on. He fixed up my bike and sent me on my way. He must have known
what I was carrying.

My first engagement forCumann na mBan in Dublin was a flag day.

I was told to go to William Street. It was a Sunday, and I should have
gone to North William Street, where the church is, but I went to South
William Street. It is not a very frequented place. I spent the morning
however getting money from everybody. It proved to be quite easy.
Then someone said: / wonder you are not down in the city. They are all
being arrested. I went to the comer of Grafton Street and Nassau Street
where there was a small crowd and none of our collectors. They had
been arrested. The people rushed over with money and filled my box.
A policeman appeared. From over my shoulder I saw him make for
me. I started to run. It was not easy. I was in a hobble skirt. A boy with
a milk dray appeared beside me. Hold on! he shouted. I did, and while
the crowd obstructed the policeman, I got away. There had been about
twenty girls arrested that day. They changed their clothing among
themselves so that they were unidentifiable in court. It made a joke of
the whole procedure.

This period coincided with the world-wide change following the war
from abundance to slump. The price of cattle fell drastically. There
was hunger among thousands of unemployed and labouring people.
Thomas Johnston approached De Valera on this following his return in
December 1920. Johnston’s idea was that if farmers loaned the land
then voluntary labour would grow the additional crops. Perhaps it was
Utopian. De Valera however felt the time was not ripe for the schemes
put forward by Johnston. We do not want a clasrwar, he said. I was not
myself in favour of seizing land in the middle of a struggle. If we had
done so, where would such petty greed have ended?

The Government of Ireland Act, which partitioned Ireland, was

MAIRE COMERFORD

passed by the British Government in December, 1920. De Valera
favoured contesting elections in both parts of Ireland. By doing so, he
seemed to acquiesce in the Act. It was never put to the Dail. Dail
meetings, anyway were only skeletons of what they had been. He
simply asked Sinn Fein. He took things in his own hands, in that way it
came to be decided that we contest the Partition Elections of May,
1921. That, in itself, was as good as giving a green light to Lloyd
George.

I was doing secretarial work in the home of Mrs. Eamonn Ceannt, at
44 Oakley Road. Paudeen O’Keeffe, Secretary of Sinn Fein, put his
head in the door. We were all talking our heads off. He moved around
briskly. You, you, you, he said to a number of us, be at Amiens Street
tomorrow, you are going North. They were sending a hundred
speakers and I was one of them.

I was sent to Derry where I met Fr. Michael O’Flanagan by
arrangement at the City Hotel. From there we journeyed to Maghera.
Fr. O'Flanagan was a magnificent speaker, wonderful; unlike myself
who had never spoken in public before. But he rallied us and gave us
every encouragement. Fix your eye upon the person at the back of the
crowd , he would say, and talk directly at them. It worked and I forgot
my self-consciousness. When the election came, it was a walkover in
the areas we choose to contest. As far as the North was concerned Sinn
Fein put up southerners oddly enough; they were already sitting TD’s
for southern seats, except one — John O Mahony. There was Eoin
MacNeill(3) in Derry, De Valera in Down, Collins in Armagh, Griffith
and Milroy in Tyrone, and John O’Mahony in Fermanagh. I never saw
any statement made about the reason for this. They appeared to have
nominated themselves. On the other hand, they may have considered
that they were putting themselves in the gap of danger; that they were
going to hold on to the rights of the people cut off under Partition. But
I do not believe it. To my mind it was De Valera's first big swindle. It
ensured that no Northerners of spirit were there to speak in the Treaty
debates. I said this to De Valera when I spoke to him prior to the
Easter celebrations in 1966: Did you find the Republic betrayed when
you returned from America in December, 1920? Meaning of course,
that he had greatly weakened our position by his Cuban speech there
of February 1920. Griffith had immediately taken this line also. He
commenced a reversion to the original Sinn Fein dual Monarchy
theory which all of us abhorred. Replying to me then, De Valera said
significantly: People believed their own propaganda; some people
believe it still.

Were all the sacrifices, I wondered, Barry, MacSwiney and the rest,
just looked upon by the leadership as necessary propaganda towards a
lesser goal? The Volunteers were not told that, and a tight rein was

MAIRE COMERFORD

being kept upon them. The revolution up to then had been a kid-glove
affair.

The election in the South resulted in fifty new Sinn Fein TD’s.
Collins got his picked Volunteer officers and I.R.B. men to go
forward. The one hundred and twenty-four TD’s of the “Partition
Election” diluted the seventy-three elected in 1918. They supported
him and later helped to soften up the Dail on the Treaty.

My feelings during the Treaty debates were quite different from
what I reasoned out afterwards. We again swallowed everything De
Valera said. I was completely opposed to his Document No. 2, though
I still believed in him. I was at all the debates. This day Cathal Brugha
made a speech supporting Document No. 2. I listened attentively for
he spoke under great strain. It is still clear in my memory. When we
came out from the chamber in Earlsfort Terrace, I met him in the
passage. It had taken a great effort for him to make such a speech. I
was unable to congratulate him or say anything he may have expected
to hear. H is lips were blue; I remember now how blue they appeared as
he held himself tensely.

De Valera had led them on with his Cuban speech to the brink of
compromise. There is a remark of his in the debates to this effect: If no
one else had done this, I would have done it. This accentuated the
distrust between them. Especially from men like Kevin O’Higgins,
because the Treaty side knew that De Valera wanted only a favourable
opportunity in order to jettison the Republic.

Counter Revolution

Liam Mellows as a TD attended Dail meetings from the Four Courts
up to the time of its dissolution at the end of May, 1922. So too did
Harry Boland, although he was not part of the occupation force in the
Four Courts. So did many other Republican TD’s. This ambivalent
situation is rarely touched upon in the history books. The Collins/De
Valera election pact was signed by them on May 20th. It was greeted
with relief by all of us. Everything looked brighter after that. A
committee under Mrs. Tom Clarke had been working hard to bring the
two sides together. Now, with the Pact, friendly exchanges of arms
going on between Free Staters and Republicans — the Free Staters
being fully aware that these were destined for the North — and a
conference between the rival armies which had reached the point of
agreement, it seemed certain that there would be agreement. It was at
this point that Griffith cut across everything with his proposal for a
general election, which would also be, in effect, a vote on the new
constitution. This renewed the tension as De Valera had proposed in
April that no election should be held until six months had passed. But

MAIRE COMERFORD

Griffith precipitated it in May, withholding the British dictated
constitution until the very morning of the election. As a result of the
Pact, however, a number of members were elected unopposed. They
were nearly all supporters of the Treaty; thus Sinn Fein lost out by it.

I was organising for Sinn Fein in Wexford again, in the run up to the
elections. We had absolutely no money as our funds were tied up as a
result of the creation of the Free State. I came back to Dublin about a
week before the attack upon the Four Courts. Of course I had no
inkling that things were as bad as that. I had been down to the Four
Courts on a number of occasions, and I was about to set off on a
mission to Donegal the morning it was attacked.

1 was in Roebuck, in Mrs. Despard’s house, when we heard the
artillery shelling the building that Wednesday morning of June 28th.
Without a thought for the danger, I mounted my bicycle and cycled in.
The dawn was lighting up the old city. (Ernie O'Malley in his book
Singing Flame has given a good account of the defence: Paddy
O'Brien, with his adjutant, often with myself, he says, went around to
our posts at intervals to gather information and to check on shell
damage to the buildings. Our fire had to be very particular and the
natural tendency for men in action to fire luxuriously in excitement to
be stifled. ‘The Mutineer' went slowly up and down the yards between
three blocks but out of reach of direct hit by the guns on the Liffey side,
concentrating fire on snipers’ posts with its Vickers gun. Cumann na
mBan girls carrying despatches came up to the side gate under fire as
the chains had to be opened to give them entry. They brought us news
of the outside; one brought ammunition given to them by Free State
soldiers. Mary Comerford slept on sacks of flour. O’Connell Street
had been occupied by Oscar Traynor and his men-).

I had the task of maintaining some sort of a link betwen the two
fragments, headquarters at the Four Courts and the Dublin Brigade
under Oscar Traynor in the hotels in O’Connell Street. As they were
on the east side of the street, it was not easy.

Liam Mellows and Rory O’Connor remained simply to make a
defensive stand on behalf of the Republic. (There was indecision, says
O’Malley. We don’t know what the country will do, said Liam Mellows.
The West will fight, I said, and the Tipperary men. Rory nodded. His
face was quiet as if he was thinking of other things. / think we should
stay here, he said. It’s unmilitary, but we represent the Republic at
present.

We can defend it, said O’Brien. I think Headquarters Staff and the
members of the Executive should leave at once for the country. It’s not
too late yet. But they waited until an indefensible building holding the
flower and talents of the Republican forces was attacked and then it
was too late to leave it.)

MAIRE COMERFQRD

At the surrender on the Friday afternoon, I wheeled out my bike,
mounted it and rode away. Nobody stopped me. I cycled the short
length of street, through the North Lotts, crossed O’Connell Street
well down from the fighting that was still going on there, and entered
by a rere door of the Hamman Hotel, (or it may have been the
Granville next door). I was now in the same stronghold as Cathal
Brugha, our former Minister for Defence. He had helped to hold the
South Dublin Union against advancing British forces in Easter Week,
and had been so severely wounded there that he was not expeced to
survive. Now he was here, gallantly encouraging everyone, a
completely different man, a much more gentle person, passionless
despite the tumult of the conflict. De Valera, Stack and Traynor were
also there. As the net tightened around us, they withdrew, as did most
of the other garrisons. There was no point in remaining just to make a
bigger bag of prisoners for the Free Staters. By the following
Wednesday there were sixteen only remaining with Brugha, of whom
three were girls. 1 left the day before. Of the three who remained, one
was Linda Kearns, and the other was Cathleen Barry, sister of Kevin
Barry while the third was Mary MacSwiney. The building was shelled
through and enveloped in flames. It was time for all of us to leave or
surrender. Once again I quietly leaked away. I rode off through the
smoke and the ruined buildings on my bicycle. I had stayed almost to
the end, and I had cheated the enemy.

(Dorothy Macardle says:(4) At last, Cathal Brugha called them
together. He ordered them to surrender before the blazing walls
should fall.... The surrendered men stood in a lane behind the hotel,
which was crowded with soldiers and men of the Fire Brigade; they
waited anxiously asking one another. Where is Cathal Brugha?

Suddenly they saw him in the doorway, a small, smoke-blackened
figure, a revolver in each hand raised against the levelled rifles of the
troops. Enemies and friends cried out Surrender! but shouting No!
Brugha darted forward, firing, and fell amid a volley of shots.
Desperate wounds had been added to the fourteen scars of Easter
1916). They could have taken him prisoner. To my mind his killing was
murder.

I was tired, tired, tired, and broken-hearted. I went down the
country, far away from Dublin. All I wanted to do was rest. But as so
often happens one becomes quickly restless again. The struggle was
still on. There was fighting still in Dublin. There was much work that 1
could do.

Collapse

The meeting at Rosegreen in South Tipperary had shown me that
there was no unified operations plan for the whole of Ireland. No

MAIRE COMERFORD

concerted action would be taken, and the Staters would recruit and
train an army in the meantime. It looked as if we would be worn down
piecemeal, but men seemed to think that we could carry out much the
same tactics as we had used against the British.

Raids became more frequent in Dublin, as did hold-ups on the
streets. The C.I.D. with women searchers were fond of that peculiar
form of raid, known as the ‘sit down raid’ in which they entered a house
quietly, unknown even to the neighbours. They locked all the family in
a room at the back; then they sat down inside for a day or two, enjoying
the freedom of the house as regards food, drink and souvenirs. All
callers were arrested, searched and put in with the family.(5)

I felt discouraged at times during that long autumn of 1922, as the
Republican Army broke up everywhere into smaller and less effective
units. There was no part of Ireland now in which a column of twenty or
thirty men might shelter safely, yet there had been dozens of columns,
twice and three times that size in the Tan struggle fifteen months
before. Big columns now were a risk and could not be fed. Of the half
dozen houses in any one neighbourhood which might have sheltered
them before, only one was open to them now and it was well watched
and spied upon. A column now was four men, short of ammunition,
hiding in a dripping dug-out. The temptations to cease to plan
operations, to give up, to go home were obvious. The Republican
Army was disintegrating like snow on a sunny day. But the days were
not sunny. September. October and November 1922 were not my best
months. I was a courier now trying to maintain links between these
disintegrating groups. Sometimes I would return to a place to find that
the unit was no longer there. Ernie O’Malley tells, and it must be true,
how he nearly shot me when I returned at midnight after a long
absence to the headquarters house he was using at 36 Ailesbury
Road.(6) He was the Assistant Chief of Staff, and as such, had to
receive many callers, which was dangerous for him and a risk for the
house. He was determined to shoot it out if they came, and in the end
he did. If they had all been like him, the Civil War would not have been
lost.

(One night late I was working in the study, when there was a loud,
sharp knock at the door. I took my gun from beside my pen on the table
and listened. The knock was repeated. Sheila ran downstairs quickly.
I’ll open, she said. It must be the Staters. No, I'll go myself. I said. I
cocked the hammer of the Webley, unlocked the door, threw it open
and waited to one side in the darkness of the hall. A figure walked in,
brushed beside me and laughed. I frightened you, she said. It was Mary
Comerford, with a despatch from the North. I was frightened for I had
intended to fire when she laughed.(7)

MAIRE COMERFORD

Imprisonment

In January, 1923, I was involved, along with Paddy McGrath, in a
plan to kidnap W. T. Cosgrave, the Prime Minister. McGrath, as you
know, was executed along with Tom Harte in September, 1941,
eighteen years later, still fighting the Free State. At this time they had
already executed many of our volunteers, some with the formality of a
courtmartial, others out of hand. The I. R. A planned to take Cosgrave
and hold him until a “fight fair” undertaking would be given. We had
been promised a safe house for the purpose; we set out this night to
inspect it.

Out at Loughlinstown, our car, Cupid, stopped. We could not get it
going again and had to abandon it. We flagged down a taxi. It was filled
already. One of the people in it was Mrs. Dick Mulcahy, or Min Ryan,
as she had been. She recognised me, although she did not pretend to
know me. It was a crowded taxi, and I had no idea she was inside. They
said they were going somewhere else; you know, polite excuses. But at
the first police post she came to, she informed about us. I had returned
to Dublin to obtain another car. Paddy was arrested where I had left
him. When I returned there I was arrested too. I was brought to
Mountjoy, where I joined Sheila Humphreys and many other girls.
Sheila was imprisoned following Ernie’s capture in November. We
were defiant. We went on hunger strike. They were worried then as no
girl had been on hunger strike.

While I was in Mountjoy, a Free State soldier fired at me and shot
me in the leg. I had been waving at other women prisoners and that was
forbidden. Shortly after that, I was transferred to the North Dublin
Union, a great barracks of a place, which was then being used as a
prison camp. I escaped from there, because the Staters had not yet
found out how to make barbed wire entanglements. They had mounds
of wire against the high wall of the Union, but they also had wire
stretched taut between posts which enabled one to climb over the
entanglement and reach the top of the wall. A number of others
followed me in the darkness. One was Kay Brady of Leeson Street, a
member of a Belfast family, who later married Dr. Andy Cooney.
Another was Anna Fitzsimons, who later married artist Frank Kelly,
one of the men who helped rescue De Valera from Lincoln Jail. She
was afterwards Anna Kelly of The Irish Press. She had been a Sinn
Fein secretary in the headquarters in Harcourt Street, and had
prepared most of the notes prior to the meeting of the First Dail. I was
free for only a month. I shared a flat in Nassau Street with Mia
Cranville. Going out one night, I was spotted; it may have been my
slouching country walk. But they arrested me anyway, and this time
they made no mistake, I was brought to Kilmainham Jail. However I
refused to eat there. I would not eat, I said, until I was set at liberty.
When one has done nothing against one’s country, it is a reasonable

MAIRE COMERFORD

enough request. They let me go, I got carried out, after twenty-seven
days. I was brought to Synge Street, to the Nursing Home of Peadar
O’DonnelPs sister-in-law, Josephine O’Donell.

An Election Campaign

The August 1923 election was announced some weeks after that.
Enormous numbers of our people were in jail, about eleven thousand
of them. We had no machine to fight it. The Free State was riding high
and sure of winning. The organisation gave me a motor bike, and gave
me the whole of Cork to organise for Sinn Fein, except Cork City. It
was a herculean task. Only one of our TD’s in Cork was at liberty,
Daithi Ceannt.(8) He lived in the wilds of East Cork and survived only
by staying out of sight. I had the greatest difficulty making contact with
him. The motor bike was unable to reach Castletownbere in the far
west because of the high wind. Nearly all of our thirty-six TD’s that
were not in prison were on the run. De Valera appeared once on a
platform in Ennis. It was fired on by the Free State troops, and he was
arrested. I was arrested myself in Fermoy, and brought to Cork Jail
and lodged there. William Cosgrave immediately directed that I be
released. They came along in the middle of the night. You are being
released, I was told. I have nowhere to go at this time , I said. You have to
go , they said. We will bring you to any of your friends you wish. No, I
said, / do not want that. I do not want my friends betrayed. Without
more ado, they evicted me from the jail; they brought me to the
Imperial Hotel and paid there for my bed and breakfast.

The financial deposits required, a hundred pounds for each
candidate, had to be collected secretly and held in a safe place or the
Staters would have seized them as illegal funds. Mary Elliot brought
the money to Cork and Kerry, hundreds of pounds from Dublin,
where it had been lodged in a bank under a private name.

There was mass intimidation too on election day. Dozens of our
people manning polling booths were arrested and lodged in some sort
of Bridewell they have in Cork. I cannot quite remember where it was,
but I can recall shouting down to them from street level. Our booths
were completely unmanned and there was no one to watch the count.
Nevertheless, despite this strange exercise in democracy by the Free
State, Sinn Fein did well in the election. Our seats went up from
thirty-six at the 1922 ‘‘Pact” election to forty-four in this first all Free
State election of 1923. I was thrilled and felt grateful to the people.

Bound for America

Then the great hunger-strike started in the jails in October. It
commenced in Mountjoy, and quickly spread to the others. But I was

MA1RE COMERPORD

already on the high seas, bound on a special mission to try to raise
funds in America. Before I come to that, however. I must tell you how
I obtained my first passport. De Valera had sent word that I was to be
sent to America. I was given twenty-five pounds to buy some clothes
and as pocket money generally. I had not had any new clothes since our
war started in 1919.1 went into Switzers and bought a grand little rig of
clothes. I went then in the morning to Dun Laoire and went aboard the
mail boat, well before the time of departure, thinking I could lie low
somewhere. But I was rooted out and told I must go up on deck and
buy a ticket. It was the same morning that James MacNeill. Free State
High Commissioner in London, was married to Josephine Aheme.
She had been a member of Cumann na mBan executive. I. being partly
on the run. was seated in a corner of the dining room with my back to
everyone. Suddenly I heard this glad voice: Oh, there is Mary
C omerford. Let us go over and talk to her. They made a great fuss of
me. They made me travel with them. It was no love match. I can assure
you, but I could not escape. I had to accompany them in their first-class
compartment on the train to London. I tried to escape at Holyhead,
but James was sent searching the train for me. It was extraordinary'
Here was I. a Republican fugitive, on a secret mission to America, with
thousands of our people in jail and many of them shot, sharing the
private compartment of the High Commissioner bound for London. I
can hardly imagine anything more incongrous. Had Ernie O'Malley or
De Valera seen me then!

I was in America for nine months. 1 should have had a lovely time
but I was homesick every day of it. I pined for Ireland and longed to get
back. We visited all the usual East Coast cities. New York,
Washington. Boston, Chicago, Detroit. . . . We were trying to put
together a fund which would give some small capital assistance to
prisoners coming home. We were not very successful. We did manage
to raise a few thousand dollars, but it was only a drop in the ocean for
the objective we had in mind.

I was glad when eventually I set sail again for home. I had left many
of my friends on hunger-strike. I wondered how they were. Now as I
looked on the dawn light stealing over the hilltops of Donegal, I
remembered them again. I rushed down the gang plank. It was
Moville, and customs men were waiting for us.

Survival

Mark my luggage, I said to one: Mark my luggage, and he did. I left
the quayside thankfully and made by train for Sinn Fein headquarters
in Suffolk Street. Dublin, with a load of guns, that my friendly
American friends had insisted on stuffing into my cases. But they were

MAIRE COMERFORD

the last thing they wanted to see. The Civil War was over, and all the
I.R.A. guns had been dumped. Sinn Fein was cleansing itself of its
military reputation, trying to forget, trying to be political.

This was a time of terrible poverty. In the aftermath of struggle there
was sickness and hunger. Republicans were boycotted for jobs.
Teachers, doctors and professional people could not get back their
employment. Many were forced to emigrate through economic
necessity, thousands, and they went with vengeance in their hearts.
They and their children are the ones who support the I.R.A. today.
Others survived by taking stand-in jobs and by giving tuitions. They
could barely manage. When Fianna Fail came to power in 1932, many
of them received long arrears of pay. Some might say it was the
beginning of Fianna Fail bribery, but it was an instalment of justice
too.

Madge Clifford had been secretary to Austin Stack. Her husband.
Dr. Comer of Rathdowney, was one of the Republicans debarred by
the Free State. He managed to eke out a precarious living in the
countryside, where he rode round on a bicycle. Imagine his surprise,
when one day, the bank manager, in a most friendly way, told him that
if he needed a car, to go ahead and buy it. Fianna Fail were, of course,
on the way back. They were not going to bring us nearer to our ideal of
Connolly’s republic, but they were at least about to move the scenery.
They were clever too, intensely clever in the phraseology used. De
Valera, in an interview in April, 1926, said: The Irish people will
support a reasonable programme based on the existing conditions ....
There is a place in Fianna Fail for all who believe with Pddraig Pearse in
one Irish nation and that free. Fair words for everybody, but so open
ended that it has since become meaningless. Could anyone imagine
Padraig Pearse policing the Border accompanied by units of the British
Army, or acting as an E.E.C. Commissioner in Brussels?

Republicans like Dr. Comer, were now passing into middle age and
looked forward to an easier life. The lesser fry were promised
pensions, pittances of five shillings a week upwards, but enough to win
many of these ex-volunteers away from radicalism. Under Fianna
Fail's two main schemes, the 1932 and 1934 Military Pensions Acts,
thousands applied, more than 60,(XX). Only a small proportion
eventually got their doles, but the mere fact that so many applied,
suborned tens of thousands of people who otherwise would have
stayed republican. Fianna Fail knew this would happen; between
medals, medals with bars, and pensions they spread the jam thinly but
adroitly.(9) When Fianna Fail left Sinn Fein in May 1926,1 was placed
on the executive of what was now a greatly weakened organisation,
and one that now, as a result of sheer inertia, gathered speed downhill.
I was unable to contribute much to it. For me now, life was unbearably

MA1RE COMERPORD

hard. I was in poor form, living alone on top of a hill in Co. Wexford. 1
was endeavouring to run my own poultry farm at Mount St. Benedict,
and each week it was an adventure, trying to make ends meet. I had
about five shillings a week to live on. and believe me it was tight. I was
cut off. For years I knew little about passing events. I was unable to
afford even a daily newspaper. I had a motor bike, and whenever I
could scrape fifteen shillings together, I would ride from Gorey to
Dublin for a week-end with some of my old friends. It gave me a tonic
to see Dublin and to get away from my harsh and lonely life in the
countryside. When you are down, you are down, and it is extra¬
ordinarily hard to rise up again.

The final chapter in the life of the Second Dail was a tragic one. Few
of the leadership that were left saw any hope. Art O'Connor, the
President, announced his resignation in January, 1928. and left to
practise law. which. I need hardly say. was Free State law and not
Republican law. Austin Stack had married a wealthy woman, a former
C umann na mBan member, a Mrs. Gordon and he sought to go also.
He wished to practise as a solicitor. Peadar O'Donnell had criticised
him bitterly for failure to support him on the Annuities issued 10)
Perhaps we should not take this too seriously as Mary MacSwiney was
herself a strong critic of Peadar. In Stack’s case, his wish to retire may
have been a premonition of the end; he was to die soon enough
anyway.(ll)

Even a purist like Brian O'Higgins was forced to sell his Christmas
cards under a Saorstat Eireann trade insignia. He was. I found, a bitter
man. I had very little use for him. He was always ready with a graveside
speech, yet he had scarcely volunteered himself. He was so opposed to
De Valera that he left his wife’s funeral when he arrived to attend it.

Father O'Flanagan, our Vice-President, undertook in 1934. to edit
the O'Donovan Papers. He, too. had to leave the organisation. Mary
MacSwiney left also about the same time. She strongly opposed the
acceptance of service pensions by some members. It only goes to show
that, as a modem state grows up. it becomes very difficult to avoid
being enmeshed by it.

In 1926, I was sentenced to nine months imprisonment on a charge
of trying to influence a jury. I was in Mountjoy again over Christmas
and on into 1927. When I came out, most of the Sinn Fein Cumann in
Co. Wexford had been bamboozled into joining Fianna Fail. In
preparation for the election that year, the I.R.A. tried to bring the two
parties together on an agreed policy, but Fianna Fail would not
agree.(12) None of them foresaw, however, that they would take the
Oath, described by Dorothy Macardle, herself in Fianna Fail, as a
towering barrier; on this side all stand unfaltering in their resolve not to
cross it. (13) It was in one of the elections of that year, in June(14) that

MAIRE COMERFORD

I must have voted; it came up at an Ard Fheis, held at No. 16 Parnell
Square. We were forbidden to vote now in Free State elections, so I
was drummed out.

I joined the Irish Press in 1935: Anna Kelly was there as woman
editor. She was a great person and a sound Republican. She wanted to
get another post in the paper, so she put me in her place. But it was
hard work. So little money was allowed, only £10 a week to contri¬
butors to pay for a whole page; six pages if one counts the days of the
week and only ten pounds for all of that. I was working so hard then, I
do not like, even now, to think about it. I got this house, which I was
paying for. I put my mother in it. I had five pounds and fifteen shil¬
lings weekly to do that, as well as to help to pay off the debts 1 had
accumulated in my bad period on Mount St. Benedict. Although I had
been out of touch for nine years, I received letters from both Mick
Price and Frank Ryan. These dealt with organisational matters. Frank
was such an attractive person. I nearly went to Spain with him, though
that would have been so silly as we had quite enough to do at home.

In 1939, I was asked to oversee what was being published in the
I.R.A. War News. Of course, in the circumstances, I rarely saw it until
it hit the streets. There was much in it that I disapproved of, but I put it
down to the relative inexperience of the people doing it. There was a
girl in the group. She had a green sports car. She was so careless with
that car, which was well known, as there were so few Republican cars
at that time. As the war progressed and as prisoners and executions
accumulated again in 1941/1942, I acted on a relief committee with
Mrs. Tom Clarke. She was Lord Mayor, and a Daly from Limerick.
She did everything she could.

As for the present day, I would love to find common denominators
in a social programme. I refuse to accept a programme which would
exclude sections of the people from participation. I would make
bloodless revolution easy and feasible for the general body of people,
who need to be converted to it. There should be a code for children
which would give all children a real stake in the country. A quarter of
our children live in poverty. Put all our educational resources at their
disposal; give them responsibility when it is thrust upon them. Give all
of them a fair start in life. It would have to be a diverse training, in
crafts, in farming or in clerical work, according to their talents. People
who have come through life and experienced the heavy load of debt
which may be incurred during what should be our best years are
anxious to shield their children from such an experience. I do not see
why, in an island of great potential wealth, many of ourchildren should
be born into poverty and an unending struggle^ 15)

MAIRE COMERFORD

REFERENCES

1 The election result gave seventy-three of the one hundred and five seats in the
Thirty-two Counties to Sinn Fein. Of the seventy-three members, thirty-six were in
prison, although there were as yet no hostilities. It is mainly upon the fact that this was
the last all Ireland election, that Republicans base their denial of the twin Parliaments
set up by Britain afterwards.

2 According to Darrell Figgis Recollections of the Irish War, the arrests had a curious
sequel. The removal of the diplomatic and statesmanlike section of Sinn Fein (notably
De Valera and Griffith) at a critical time, left the militant section, personified by Cathal
Brugha. in complete control of the organisation. The result was that the tactical error
was made, on the openingof Dail Eireann. of declaring a Republic in unequivocal terms.
The declaration was found to present extreme difficulties, as, once proclaimed, the
difficulty of going back on it was apparent; whereas, if the status had been left
undefined, it would have been possible to work gradually towards it, untrammelled bv
any previous definition and affirmation.

3 A Co. Antrim man from Glenarm, long resident in Dublin.

4 The Irish Republic, by Dorothy Macardle.

5 Ernie O'Malley in the The Singing Flame.

6 The present day French Chancellery opposite the Embassy. It was built specially
for Mrs. Humphreys in 1918 by Batt O’Connor for £8,000.

7 O'Malley in the The Singing Flame.

8 Daithi Ceannt, Second Dail TD, died in November. 1930. He had been
imprisoned in the land war. in 1916 and in 1920. One brother was killed in Cork in 1916.
one was executed and Daithi himself was condemned to death.

9 The 1932 Act was restricted to disabled persons. It permitted pensions of £30 per
annum to £150 per annum, depending on the degree of disability. The 1934 Act opened
the gate to almost anyone who could claim to have participated up to September, 1923,
thus covering the Civil War period. The I.R.A. issued a directive to members not to
apply for or to accept pensions, nor to sign certificates of military service for others.

10 An Phoblacht, December 24th. 1927.

11 Austin Stack, renowned prison leader and Deputy Chief of Staff from 1919-1922,
died in May 1929. An Phoblacht of May 18th gives his life story and three columns of
names of those who attended his funeral.

12 An Phoblacht , June 3rd, 1927.

13 An Phoblacht, May 7th, 1927.

14 Sinn Fein dropped to five seats, while the new party, Fianna Fail, gained forty-
seven. The law was then changed forcing members to sign their name and enter
Parliament. In the second election in September, this clause caused the total
disappearance of Sinn Fein, who refused to go forward, while Fianna Fail increased its
strength to fifty-seven members.

15 On the last day but one, on the roof of the Hamman, she sat on the slates with
Brugha. What will become of us? He urged her to go. She was interested in a number
of men in the Movement but never allowed herself to fall in love until the struggle was
over. And of course it was never over. She gave up smoking to enable herself to main¬
tain a stray horse. She rests Dec. 1982 at Mt. St. Benedict with Fr. J. F. Sweetman and
his Republican housekeeper Aileen Keogh;, as Mt. Nebo once the residence of Hunter
Gowan, originator of the pitch cap torture of 1798.

John

Swift

Trade Union Leader
and Pacifist

My father was a Parnellite. He was in business in Dundalk where he
had a bakery in partnership with another man; the bakery was known
as Swift & Cooper. At an early age I learned something about the trade
in a very unorthodox way. I used to steal unfinished buns from the
confectionery bakery, put some icing on them and sell them at school. 1
was at the Christian Brothers which was attended mainly by the
children of other shopkeepers — the De La Salle in the town was for
the poorer children — and they would bring in things that they had
stolen from their parents. The result was a real live black market in the
school. Unfortunately the foreman baker discovered my little
skullduggery. He therefore gave me tasks to do in the bakery, and in
that way I learned the trade. My mother did not have much interest in
politics although her father and all of the family were good
nationalists. In my young days there were some very exciting elections
in Dundalk. I recall one in 1910, when Hazelton, a local candidate
dislodged Tim Healy. They took an action for a recount, on the score
that the difference was a small one, and this had been brought about by
large scale impersonation for Hazelton. Healy and William O’Brien,
you will recall, had broken away from Redmond’s Irish Party and
formed an All for Ireland League. Anyway they succeeded in toppling
Hazelton and regaining the seat.

Both sides were still raking over the Parnellite embers whenever it
suited them, as a means of having a dig at a person or gaining clerical
support. It was common enough for priests to appear on the Healy
platform and to have to listen to them denouncing Hazelton on
sectarian grounds.

My Legal Career

I had left the Christian Brothers school and had taken up work as a

JOHN SWIFT

junior clerk in the office of Dr. K. C. Moynagh. the Crown Solicitor for
Co Louth. He had an enormous practice. He had a son Stephen
working in the business and another son Frank who was a barrister It
was a very prestigious office with a clientele, not only in Louth, but in
Armagh, Monaghan and Cavan. I was lucky to get in there. I had been
accepted through the influence of my mother’s first cousin. He was the
head law clerk, and he largely controlled the running of the office My
wages were a half a crown a week. I had the prospect of being
apprenticed eventually if I liked the work and they liked me. In that
case I would lose my half crown and my people would have to pay a fee
before I could proceed. I liked the work very much although it was
mostly dreary litigation that the firm was engaged in. Farmers then
loved going to law over rights of way, disputed wells, and such like My
principal task was copying deeds. This was all done long hand, as the
t^ing machine was only coming into use and was not much used in law
offices. Judges would not accept a typed document particularly if it was
a copy They would have to see handwriting, and handwriting was an
art at that time. 6

I was a pretty good writer, as was my mother’s first cousin, the head
clerk. We used to scroll the affadavits with an illumination on the
parchment. I liked that part of it.

Most of the deeds and agreements were in dull legal language.
However, I recall one case which was a relief from all that. We had this
action for breach of promise. Now in my young days these cases were
fairly common. If a woman was jilted she frequently went to law and
recovered damages. Not much by today’s standards, but at that time
one hundred and fifty pounds or thereabouts went a long way to salve a
wounded heart. They do not do it very much now because women have
become more independent. Anyway, we were acting for this local
servant girl who was suing a police constable in the town. She had kept
all his letters although she was illiterate. She was not able herself to
read, but evidently she got somebody else to read them for her. At any
rate she knew everything that was in this pile of letters, quite a
substantial pile that she brought into us.

They were very amusing. He must have been an awful fool of a man.
He used to quote the poets. I was just fresh from school and I could see
that when he tried to quote the poets he frequently got them wrong.
The servant girl won her action. She got something like seventy pounds
damages. I left the office after six months. Although I liked the law,
particularly the logic. I could not get along with my mother's first
cousin, and as he was in an important position in the office that made
things difficult for me. In any event, I would have had to leave anyway
as I shall shortly relate. 7

Mechanisation in the bakery trade came at an early stage to Belfast.

JOHN SWIFT

The result was that they were able to flood outlying towns, anywhere
the railways extended to, with their bread. They sent it to Dublin
where they undercut the local bakeries. We had two bakeries, a bread
bakery and a confectionery bakery, on the one site in Clanbrassil
Street, the main street in Dundalk. However, my father and his
partner were conservative; they had a great pride in their craft and
were strongly opposed on financial grounds to the introduction of
machinery. The result was that they could not compete and went
bankrupt in 1910.

Dublin Slums

The only resort at that time for a failed businessman and his family
was to emigrate or to seek oblivion in Dublin. We arrived in Dublin in
1912, the year before the great lockout. Up to that time 1 had been
ignorant of such things, but 1 soon learned about them. We were very
poor. We had no choice but to seek accommodation in the cheapest
place we could find, a tenement house in Clanbrassil Street. There
were other families in the house of course; it was a three storey house,
long since demolished. In circumstances like that you were bound soon
to understand the role of James Larkin. Here was a man, a great
natural orator, a man of enormous physique; I was soon attracted to
his meetings. I used to follow him around just to listen to him. In that
way I got my labour education, very effectively I must say. We were
receiving food parcels in our house. These were the parcels made up by
the trade unions in England and sent to Dublin to alleviate the
suffering. They did not like Larkin’s militancy but they assisted the
strikers in many other ways. Vincent de Paul distributed food
vouchers. Sometimes we would have a competition in our house to see
who could get in anyone week, both a parcel and a voucher.

I was already working. 1 went to serve my time at a small bakery,
Galbraiths, in Thomas Street. It is long gone now. My father also
worked there as a casual baker, putting in a stint in other bakeries
whenever the opportunity offered. Because of my early schooling in
the bakery in Dundalk 1 was classified as an improver. There is no such
stage now, one is either an apprentice or a journeyman, the union
having succeeded in abolishing the intermediate stage.

I had entered Galbraiths in 1913. Early in 1914. a few months after
they were founded, a group of us from the bakery joined the 3rd
Battalion of the Volunteers. I had actually been in O’Connell Street on
the night in November when they were set up. I spent much of my life
wandering through the city streets, lured along by any political
excitement there might be. Anyway we joined early in 1914 in York
Street. It was in a tenement house where some society, it may have

JOHN SWIFT

been the Foresters, had rooms. We used to drill there at night with
imitation wooden rifles.

On Saturdays, we used to parade at Larkfield in Kimmage. on lands
owned by Count Plunkett. It is long since built over. De Valera was
one of the officers of the battalion. He was unknown at this time, but
he was very conspicious because he was so tall and foreign looking. He
also was one of the few who used to come in uniform. The uniform of a
private consisted of a cavalry man's breeches, puttees, a jacket and a
peaked cap. All that, as far as I remember, came to thirty shillings or
one pound fifty in today’s money. Most of us working class youths were
paying for ours at the rate of three pence per week, but there were
many middle class people there who could afford to buy them outright.
We paid the money into our quartermaster in York Street, and, I
regret to say, I never managed to pay enough to afford my uniform.
But I did manage to buy the more basic accoutrements with which
every volunteer started, namely, a bandolier of real leather, which I
bought for half a crown, in Fallons of Mary Street, a belt and a canvas
haversack. The whole lot for five shillings. That was a big lot out of
your wages in those days.

Redmond Splits the Volunteers

De Valera, as I have said, used to arrive at Larkfield in his uniform,
complete with Sam Browne belt and highly polished boots, on a
bicycle. Now. if you have ever seen a tall man in uniform on a bicycle, it
will strike you as strange, almost funny, but there was nothing funny
about Dev. He was very aloof, rarely speaking to us. He gave us
commands of course, for field drill. We got the ordinary ‘form fours’ in
York Street. But here we were being trained en masse as a battalion.
The commands were all in Irish.On Sundays, we used to go on route
marches, up by Dundrum. Ballinteer and Ticknock. We always sang
on these marches, the Irish songs of ’98. Davis' Clares Dragoons, The
West's Awake, and such like.

I had joined the Volunteers mainly because I was interested in
physical culture. The drilling appealed to me. I soon found however,
that there was a growing disharmony within their ranks: it was of
course the Redmondites, by far the greater number, versus the Sinn
Feiners. The Redmondites, as part of their tactics to persuade the
British Government to pass a Home Rule Bill (which they had done,
while postponing the operation until war ended), pledged the services
of the Volunteers in the first World War. John Redmond did that in the
British House of Commons on the 15th September, 1914, six weeks
after war had started, when he said : it is their duty ... the young men of
Ireland . . . and should be their honour, to take their place in the firing
line in this contest. On the 20th September he went further at Wooden-

JOHN SWIFT

bridge when, at a Volunteer parade, he used the occasion to recruit for
England’s war by saying: the war is undertaken in defence of the highest
principles of religion, morality, and right, and it would be a disgrace for
ever to our country, a reproach to her manhood and a denial of the
lesson of her history, if young Ireland confined their efforts to remaining
at home to defend the shores of Ireland from an unlikely invasion, or
should shrink from the duty of proving on the field of battle that
gallantry and courage which have distinguished their race all through
history.

I need not tell you this was very strong and heady medicine. It sent
thousands of young men out, including many of the Volunteers. But
where in history has a war not been fought for religion, morality, or
right? Lenin, as you know, in November, denounced the imperialistic
character of the war and condemned the social democratic leaders of
Europe for involving their countries in it. The war was also vigorously
opposed in Ireland by James Connolly.(In this gospel of hatred
preached by the capitalist press it sees the denial of human
brotherhood. Irish Worker, Nov. 1914.)

This all had immediate reactions in the Volunteers. As I say, the
majority were Redmondites; I was myself. I got it from my father and
his politics in North Louth. They were opposed by a much smaller
group, the followers of Sinn Fein. They had been established in Louth
too before I left, but were regarded as eccentrics, advocating physical
force, self-reliance and home industry. They had very little influence.
Anyway the political arguments raged hot and heavy within our
battalion of the Volunteers, whether we should support the war or stay
back and wait for some sort of a fight in Ireland. Before I could make
up my mind however, I met with an accident in the bakery. I got a very
severe electric shock. It was given me deliberately by the foreman in
the bakery. He did it as a joke, not realising its consequences. It threw
me against a machine. I got injuries to my head and was rendered
unconscious. I was removed by my workmates in a coma to a
dispensary in Meath Street nearby. Eventually. I ended up in the
South Dublin Union, in the hospital of the poorhouse, being treated
for epilepsy. I was in a state of rigour, unable to move. Epilepsy was
what they wrote down on my health benefit certificate. I was placed in
an epileptic ward with other poor patients. We were in a pauper
hospital where the people they had attending us were the healthy
paupers. It was all a great working class experience, though highly
unwelcome to myself as I slowly gained some sort of consiousness of
where I was. Here was a person returning to normality in a place with
barred windows like a prison, surrounded by idiots, some of them
having frequent seizures, struggling in their beds, yowling at night and
walking the ward. It was like a scene from Dante’s Inferno. I was there

JOHN SWIFT

about a month when the sheer horror of it, caused me to flee. I could
not stick it any longer.

When I emerged, the split in the Volunteers was an accomplished
fact. The National Volunteers, that is the followers of Redmond had
siphoned off ninety per cent of the recruits. Most of them must have
joined up because we heard little more about them. The minority
group, the Irish Volunteers continued under Eoin MacNeill, Bulmer
Hobson, and the Sinn Fein leadership. However, I did not resume with
them as I found them narrow on the religious question. Encouraged by
my father I was becoming more interested in philisophical and social
matters. There was a librarian at that time in charge of the library in
Kevin Street, the nearest to our home, his name was Paddy Stevenson.
He afterwards became the City Librarian. He was a progressive, had
strong socialist views, and managed to get a lot of radical books into
the public library. He was afterwards with Connolly in the G P O in
Easter Week.

Rebellion

Anyway, I read quite a lot on philosophy, the social sciences, and so
on. When I resumed work again it was at Johnston Mooneys in
Ballsbridge, where I was on night work in a rough confectionery
bakery. I used to walk to and fro in the small hours of the morning. It
was a great time to see Dublin, in the early morning hours. I was there
until the rebellion of April. 1916, when of course I had to cease work.
The rebellion was quite a surprise to me. In fact on that Monday prior
to going on night work. I went in the afternoon to the cinema, to the De
Luxe Cinema in Camden Street. Imagine my amazement when, on
emerging, I saw soldiers lying prone on the pavement directly opposite
outside Gorevans firing in the direction of Jacobs, which had been
occupied by the rebels. For the rest of the week, surprising as it may
seem now, people moved about looking at the rebellion. They kept
away from O'Connell Street, but everywhere else they seemed
unaware of the danger; the general impression was one of shock mixed
with strong disapproval. My own strongest feeling was one of disbelief
that this could happen. I had not expected a minority to persist in their
idea of an insurrection. It did not seem credible.

When the executions came there was revulsion, sympathy with the
leaders, if not approval. With me it was a bit more than that. I felt very
strong indignation against Britain.

Immediately after the rebellion I got a job in Bewleys. It was day
work which suited me much better. They also did very high-class
confectionery. They still do. Made with the best of ingredients, no
substitutes. I was still an improver. I had however joined the Irish

JOHN SWIFT

Bakers Union in 1915, and although conditions were good in Bewleys,
I tried to encourage my workmates to join also. I did not succeed in
this. Instead I found myself sacked. The foreman was an Englishman,
Fred Andrews, very hostile to the Union. The boss then was Ernest
Bewley, father of Victor and Alfred. He was not aware of my
existence, and had no part in sacking me. He ran the cafe and shop,
leaving the running of the bakery to Andrews.

Wartime London

I reported to the union. I was put on the slate entitling me to
unemployment benefit since 1 was regarded as victimised. This
allowed me to go out and get a day’s work here and another day there.
It was called slate money. However work was scarce at this time.

There had been a severe winter in the early part of 1917. Dublin was
covered by snow and ice for weeks. Hence there was not much for me.
On the days I was not working, which was most days, I went along to
Gardiner Street to sign up. There I soon found that Britain was
exercising a policy of economic conscription of the workless.
Unemployment was being artifically created in order to force people to
emigrate seeking work. She had introduced conscription in her own
country in 1915. She therefore had a lot of workplaces that needed
filling. If Irishmen were not prepared to go out and fight, then some
sort of war work would be found for them. Unemployment was very
bad, affecting even the bakers. The union, in order to ease its
unemployment problem, offered what it called, commutation grants to
its young members to emigrate. In this way they hoped to leave
whatever casual work was available to the older members. The
regulations in the labour exchange directed that when work was
offered and refused the dole was cut off from the person concerned.
Agents of the government manned the exchanges. They were
constantly on the look-out for whom they might send to war work in
England. It so happened that I and a number of my comrades were
selected in this way, and directed to report for work to a lead factory at
Rotherhithe in London. A number of us qualified for the commutation
grants. We went with this party numbering twenty to London, in June
1917, and were lodged in a lodging house on Bow Road. Rotherhithe is
one of the most squalid places in London. Our factory was right on the
dockside, old and singularly unattractive. We travelled in the early
morning by tube from Bow Road to Rotherhithe. Our hours were very
long, fourteen hours daily, seven days a week. We had to work on
Sunday, and were of course denied time off for Mass. The work itself
was heavy, lifting and shovelling all day long, for a total wage of two
pounds per week. There was no union to protect us, almost nothing
then existed except the craft unions.

JOHN SWIFT

After a few weeks, the Dublin party took stock and decided that
they would protest against these conditions. One of the factors that
made the situation less tolerable was the poor relations that existed
between these young Dublin lads and the elderly English workers,
many of whom considered that we were unfairly taking the jobs of their
sons and relatives. They looked upon us unfavourably in view of the
rebellion of the previous year, which they regarded as an act of
treachery. There was great resentment about that.

Our only-recourse in these circumstances was to announce a strike.
This was completely against the terms under which we went to London
in the first place. It was also contrary to the Defence of the Realm Act.
We did not care. We felt driven to it. We left the factory and
announced that henceforth we were on strike. All of the Dublin party
took this course. After a week or so, myself and another man were
summoned, and brought before a civilian tribunal set up to adjudicate
on issues where people were conscripted, but who might be entitled to
exemption. Likewise they had power to send reluctant workers into
the trenches. We gave an account of ourselves. Notes were taken by
the chairman of our complaints. We were promised these would be
investigated, meanwhile we were fined £2 each, in other words a full
week’s wages.

A Conscript

We all returned to work hoping for an investigation. Things however
were worse even than before, with very marked hostility from our
workmates. We therefore decided we must again strike. Knowing
however that they would send military police after us on this occasion,
since we had forfeited military exemption by our previous mis¬
demeanours, some of us decided we would go on the run. I sought
another sort of job which I found easily. I was building small hangars
for the thousands of primitive bi-planes the Allies were now turning
out against the Germans. The hangar I was working on was in
Blackheath, an area that is long since built over. At that time much of it
was open country. I stayed in the workingmens hostels known as the
Rowton Houses. Baron Rowton, who had some connection with the
Guinness's and who inspired them into going ahead with the Iveagh
Hostel in Dublin, set them up for working men. You got a clean bed for
the night in a small cubicle for one shilling. In the morning you could
have a good breakfast for sixpence. However they were frequently
raided by the military police on the trail of soldiers returned from
France who did not want to return and absented themselves. I knew
this of course, so I tried as far as possible to stay out at night. I moved
about a lot, rarely staying two successive nights in any one of them.

JOHN SWIFT

This Saturday night I was in this Rowton House in New Cross when it
was raided. I was taken off as I had no exemption papers; they grabbed
some actual deserters also. We were lodged in New Cross police
station where we remained until Monday morning. We were then
brought before a local magistrate. He remanded each of us in military
custody. I found myself taken off to the Duke of Yorks Schools,
Chelsea, which was the headquarters of the London Irish Rifles.

I was immediately brought before a tribunal of officers. They told
me they would do me a favour, they would leave me in this Irish
regiment. This amused me a little because then and later I found very
few Irishmen in the regiment. However, I quickly told them that I
would not soldier, nor would I wear the uniform. I was objecting as an
Irish Republican to serving in the army. They had met objectors
before, one of the most persistent groups being among the Society of
Friends. They tried to smooth over my objections by putting up the
usual arguments, were we not engaged in a fight for small nations, and
so on. all the propaganda that I was well used to, and was least likely to
have any effect upon me.

I persisted in my objections which were then swiftly overruled. I was
sent under escort to Winchester which was the training ground for this
and other English regiments. We again went through the same
procedure. I continued my objections strenuously. I was therefore
brought before the commanding officer who directed that I be court-
martialled. Well, I thought, this is it. I was hauled back to the
cells, remanded for a week. I had a cell-mate, an Englishman, and a
conscientious objector. He had a uniform on him. This evidently was
the result of advice they received from their organisations. Clothing
was forcibly removed; if an objector refused then to don a uniform he
could be left in a semi-naked condition in a cold cell. My cell-mate was
not a Quaker; he was a pacifist. In fact he called himself a Tolstoyian
Anarchist. It was my first acquaintance with the social teachings of Leo
Tolstoy. He told me that the enforcement of law was tyranny, and that
we were not obliged to submit to a law which compelled us to commit
violence upon one another. We used to have long discussions. He had
already done a sentence of six months. I was eventually court-
martialled, the charge being that I had disobeyed a lawful military
command. I had been exempted service in favour of war work, but as I
had absented myself from that, I would now be liable for military
service. My willingness to come to London was turned into a trap. My
reply to that was that I had come only because of British misrule in
Ireland. The courtmartial consisted of three officers. The adjutant of
the regiment acted as prosecutor. I was assigned an officer in my
defence, but of course I spoke myself. The case did not last more
than half-an-hour, whereupon I was told that the verdict would be

IV16 Aftermath. British Tommy in a north side Dublin Street

JOHN SWIFT

promulgated in due course. I was then brought back to the cell.

After about a week the promulgation took place. It is quite an
elaborate ceremony. An entire company of soldiers is drawn up in the
barrack square. I was marched out under an escort of four soldiers with
fixed bayonets. This clearly was intended to put the fear of God into
everybody. It missed its point a little when one considers that the
‘lucky’ ones, namely the soldiers on parade, were bound for the
trenches while the culprit, myself, was unlikely ever to go there. I knew
this well. War enthusiasm had long evaporated in the face of wartime
shortages, bad social conditions, and the high casualties.

The commanding officer then rode out on his horse accompanied by
other officers on horseback. They were confronted by the adjutant,
who proceeded to read out the findings of the courtmartial. These
were that I was sentenced to two years hard labour.

Prison

In a few days I was brought by redcaps to Wormwood Scrubs in
London. I still had my civilian clothes, but these were now taken from
me. and I was given the ordinary prison garb to wear. I became very
introspective particularly as I was now in solitary confinement. I was in
a cell on the ground floor, a punishment cell, isolated from all the
others, with very thick walls. You could hear nothing. I began to
torture myself, why should I now wear prison clothes when I refused to
wear military attire? I suffered quite a lot in this way, particularly as
this confinement, the reasons for which were never made known to
me, lasted many weeks. The only time I could emerge from the cell was
for a brief minute each morning, when I was escorted along to the end
of the passage to empty my slop bucket and to fill a water container. At
the same time they removed my bed, chair and table, leaving me only
the flags to sit upon. I had of course, no books or reading matter. I was
fed three times daily through a slot in the door, about seven inches
square, with a drop leaf shelf. The food was delivered on a leather
plate accompanied by a rubber mug. The spoon and knife were made
from this same leather material, which left them quite useless for their
function. These precautions, you were told, were to prevent you from
taking your life.

Apart from the conditions, and extremely bad food which was
frequently dirty. I became overcome with loneliness. To counteract
this I commenced to whistle. I used to walk up and down the stone
floor of the cell making as much noise as I could in my heavy boots —
the laces of which had been removed — whistling loudly to myself.
Fortunately I had a great repertoire of opera tunes, more particularly
Verdi's operas. I would walk up and down the four little paces of my

JOHN SWIFT

cell whistling vigorously away until, after perhaps two or three hours, I
eventually lay down or sat upon the floor.

I was warned about this whistling. These were rebel tunes. They
were of course ‘II Trovatore' or *Rigoletto\ very martial I must admit.
He was the composer of the Risorgimento, and I was very keen on
them at that time. Anyway this old warder, an old Cockney, and a very
ignorant man, though in other respects kindly, warned me that my
whistling could be heard outside. It was completely against the
regulations, and I must stop. But I could not stop. It was a
subconscious reaction to the weeks of silence. I was not even aware
when I started or when I was silent. Anyway this old warder booked
me. A complaint was lodged, and the deputy governor came to my cell.
I was not taken out even for the few moments of freedom when one
might stand in line outside the governor's office. The deputy governor
in his prison uniform, entered. He had a charge sheet in his hand.
Looking me up and down, and dismissing any protest of mine, he
announced that henceforth, and for the next six days I would be on a
diet of bread and water only, for whistling Irish rebel songs.

I endured the next six days on prison bread — about a quarter loaf
daily — and water. I can tell you I had less energy for whistling
although I still could not stop. After a very short time they came to me,
told me I was leaving, and instructed me to change into my civilian
clothes. I could not understand w hat was happening, but I was soon to
know. An escort of red caps awaited me within the gates, and I was
driven in a military van to Wandsworth, in another part of London.

There I donned the garb again, but this time I was placed in an
ordinary cell close to the other prisoners. I was allowed association to
the extent that I was escorted from the cell for two hours daily, never
speaking of course, since that was against the regulations, and placed
in a workshop where we sewed mail bags. These were the heavy canvas
bags formerly used by the post office. We were there under the eye of
the warders. We could however communicate surreptitiously. In that
way I found out that my fellow prisoners were a mixed lot, some were
conscientious objectors doing their time. You could communicate
without bothering with names; you were not interested in who they
were but in what they were there for. The others in the workshop were
ordinary criminals; they were in there on serious crimes, otherwise
they would not have been there at all. They would have been in the
trenches. Most of my companions therefore were London criminals, of
the worst type. They would have been no good in the army.

We had one hour of exercise each day. We were released into a large
prison yard where we walked in silence around a large circle, each one
a respectable distance behind the other, and always with the hands
clasped behind your back. You were not permuted to have them in any

JOHN SWIFT

other position, all signs, whispering or nods of recognition, were
strictly forbidden. Nonetheless the routine was tolerable to me, and an
immense improvement on Wormwood Scrubs.

At this time they had made certain changes in the military service
acts which permitted conscientious objectors to opt for non combatant
service. Quite a number, particularly the pacifists, agreed to this, and
were taken away. Some however would not agree to it. They felt that
by taking on any sort of job which directly released another into the
fighting line, they were as good as taking part themselves. They would
not go. We used to talk over these things in the restricted way allowed
by the regulations. Some of the objectors, notably the Quakers, were
allowed visitors. Now I never had a visit from anybody, although Alfie
Byrne, who was an M.P. at this time, did try to find where I was. He
raised the matter in the House of Commons but they would not tell
him. Alfie, you know was very active in pursuing things for people, and
although, not a Republican, was just as diligent in looking after their
prisoners. Anyway the Quakers and some of the Socialists got visits
front friends. Some managed to smuggle in newspapers, such as the
Times, which had plenty of solid reading. If you were lucky you rniuht
get a page of it thrust at you. any page, it did not matter, but from it you
might glean a few scraps.

Forced into Uniform

This was November, 1917. We got to hear of the Petrograd
Revolution the October Revolution. Some of us who knew a little of
the conditions in Czarist Russia were delighted with this. Even in the
prison workshop we could smile. Someone even commenced to whistle
the Red Flag which at that time I did not know. Yet it was composed bv
a Cavan man, Jim Connell’ whose brother was a member of my union.
Jim Larkin came from Newry. The parents of James Connolly came
from Monaghan, and here was I in Wandsworth during the Petrograd
Revolution from County Louth, all of us. if I dare say so. from the one
little corner, the armpit of Ireland.

Anyway they blamed me for this whistling. My reputation evidently
had followed me from Wormwood Scrubs. I was removed to a
punishment cell in a military part of the jail where discipline was much
more rigorous. There was no heat in the cell. It was now late
November and I need hardly say, in such an old stone building it was
both weepy and cold. I was held there a few days until, on this day a
military officer accompanied by two Red Caps entered. They brought

Connell emigrated to England at an early age. He wrote the Red Flag in 1889 setting
it at first to the air of the Green Cockade. It was adopted by the British Labour Party as
its anthem in 1924 on the motion of George Landsbury, being fervently sung at the close
of each annual conference. Connell returned to Ireland later to work on the Dublin
docks. He died in February 1929 his death being noted in An Phoblachl.

JOHN SWIFT

a military uniform, shirt, puttees and boots. The officer ordered me to
put these on. I refused. He gave me another chance. I refused again.
He nodded to the two policemen. They grabbed me, pushed me over
and gave me a severe pummeling. They pulled the prison clothes off
me. and then proceeded to remove the bed. and all the furniture from
the cell, leaving only the military uniform in a heap upon the floor.

It was now dark in the cell. Taking the military clothing, I spread
some of it upon the floor, putting the rest of it over me, like a very
ineffectual bed. Needless to say it was cold and draughty with a
penetrating little wind entering under the cell door. I shivered
endlessly. \ had already developed bronchitis in the prison. This now
became much worse. I wheezed and coughed all night. They had been
observing me through the spyhole. After two days of this, the door
opened again, and a military doctor with two orderlies entered. He
gave me a thorough examination, then directed that I be shifted to the
prison hospital.

Oscar to the Rescue

Hospital, as you know, is still very much a part of prison. The cells
are the same, but some may be bigger. The diet is slightly better. I was
there a few weeks when another military doctor came to me. When he
learned I was Irish, and from Dublin, he immediately started talking
about Oscar Wilde. He may have been that type of man. He was very
gentle, rather effeminate. He thought I should know a lot about Wilde,
but I knew nothing. He was a bad name to me. The doctor however,
had read and memorised Wilde, and used to quote his poetry to me.
He had been educated in Portora, Enniskillen, where Wilde had also
spent some time.

He delayed my departure from the hospital, while advising me,
w hen I would go, to avail of the non-combatant service. I had begun to
think of this myself too, especially when I realised the lengths to which
they might go. He confirmed this. // you go back there, said he, they
will place the same uniform on the floor. You may put it on or you may
lie naked and you will, if you are lucky, end up here again. But you may
well die there, and if you do no one is ever going to learn the
circumstances.

I thought long and hard about my situation. Alright, I said, tell them l
am ready to volunteer to act as a cook. I was quite competent as a cook,
and of course I was a fully trained baker. Foolishly I trusted
them that having volunteered I would now be given a non-combatant
job. I was led back to the cell where I donned the uniform. A sergeant
major now entered. Fine, said he, now get out for a spot of drill. I
explained that I had volunteered to cook. Oh, said he, we cannot have

JOHN SWIFT

non-combatant soldiers. A soldier must train so that he can defend
himself. I was back to where I started, only now I was wearing their
uniform. I was filled with mortification at myself, not knowing what to
do. Still. I refused point blank to drill; I would not. They then arrested
me again, and this time transferred me to my third prison, the military
prison at Aldershot. It was a terribly rigorous place. The worst of the
military offenders were there, men that would do anything rather than
go back to France. People with self-inflicted wounds and disable¬
ments. There was a lot of that. As a result of this the authorities made
the regime in the glasshouse as intolerable as possible so that these
fear-stricken men would volunteer to get out of it.

One of the rigoursof the place was the system of pack drilling, taking
all your equipment, blankets, haversack, and going through a series of
long and fatiguing exercises, all done at the double. They allowed no
let up. Yet the drilling was the only way you could communicate with
anyone else. So I went drilling. Gradually. I knew, I was slipping into
their routine. I was being ensnared. At each little step I tried to justify
myself. At the same time I was annoyed at myself for compromising,
yet all the time solacing my conscience by repeating to myself, you
cannot stand alone, you must communicate with somebody.

On the Western Front

I suffered a lot of mental anguish that way. But I had now got
company, you had to have a companion in order to drill. And with a
companion you could have a harmless conspiracy. I had not much
selection. The company was terrible, the worst of criminals. There was
one fellow in the cell next to me. I do not know to this dav if he was
malingering, some of them could do it so artfully, breaking up their
cells, pretending to be insane. This fellow was a Welshman. He used to
make a din in the middle of the night, they would come then, rough
him up. and put him in a straightjacket. In his moments, he was a very
good singer. I could hear him in his cell singing Welsh songs and Irish
songs, which he appeared to like. Yet. when I would speak
surreptitiously to him. he would criticise me as a conscientious
objector. He put up to be patriotic. He had been a regular soldier in a
Welsh regiment, a volunteer. He explained his plight however, bv
relating how he had taken part in an execution in France. It was the
execution of a young soldier, an acquaintance of his, for cowardice.
The youth broke down completely, and had to be dragged and tied at
the place of execution. My companion was one of the firing party. As a
result of that bleak early morning experience, the culmination. I
suppose, of the months he had already spent in the trenches — they
had been in some of the hardest fought parts of Passchendaelc — his

JOHN SWIFT

nerves had given way. The people in Aldershot however would not
believe him. They said he was malingering.

I got into his company. I also joined two Londoners. They were
criminals, ordinary house burglars, but they had been conscripted, and
had no respect for military orders or discipline. Not that they had any
principles about this. They just hated the army. They spent their time,
when they were not drilling, planning what they would do when the
war would be over. A life of crime.

I gravitated into their company. We used to try to help one another.
Then this night they took the four of us out, handcuffed us together
and announced that we were going to Folkstone. We climbed into a
lorry, and travelled from Aldershot to Folkstone, where we were put
aboard a ship, still handcuffed, left overnight in a cell, and landed the
next morning at Calais. We were then marched from the quayside to
the British military prison where we were placed in separate cells. I had
not the least idea what might happen now, but I had not long to wait.
After cooling my heels for an hour, the door opened, and an officer
accompanied by two Red Caps entered. He read out my name and an
armvnumber. You are being sent on a course of cooking, heboomedat
me. You will be taken by train to Rouen , and you will be trained into
cooking for officers .

Imagine my surprise at my choice of non-combatant duty arriving at
last. I was immediately despatched with another party; I arrived near
Rouen, and I remained there for two weeks at a special school devoted
solely to army cooking. I liked it very much. For one thing you got
good food, the best food available. After all my privations I can assure
you I did not stint myself. Mother England owed it to me.

However all good things come to an end. The fortnight's training
was up, and I found myself sent to a base very near the front at Etaples.
I was cooking now, cooking in the officers mess of a battalion of the
Kings Own Royal Lancasters in the 55th Division. It was now the
month of March, 1918, and as you know the Germans released a great
offensive on the 21st of the month. I got wounded, a shrapnel wound,
on the same day. I was very near the front, near Arras, and the
Germans succeeded in pushing their way in upon us. I was sent down
the line, from one field-post to another. It took me from the 21st,
which was Holy Thursday until Easter Sunday evening to reach the
hospital. The whole front was in turmoil, the Germans having broken
through. Eventually I got to a hospital near Rouen. After a few weeks
there, I was sent to a convalescent home at Bushy. I was there for a
further month. It was there that I saw much self-inflicted illness; it was
being done simply to stay away from the front. A favourite way of
keeping ill was to smoke iodine. Every soldier had a little first aid pack
in which there was a glass tube of iodine. They would put a little on the

JOHN SWIFT

top of a cigarette, and inhale it. In next to no time they had a
temperature of over a hundred. They felt and looked really ill. It was
most unpleasant. I he chest became congested. This frequently
resulted in lasting damage.

Another trick was to obtain an ordinary 303 rifle bullet, which even
in a hospital, was common. They would take the cap off, releasing
strings of cordite within the chamber, the brass part of the bullet. They
would chew and digest this cordite, which being poisonous, induced a
h igh temperature and an inflamed appearance. The medical staff were
either too unskilled — a lot were very young, or they did not have time
to investigate. How could they? They simply extended the hospitali¬
sation of the soldier concerned. He gave a wink and a smile to his
buddies, and an ever increasing number became involved. Demorali¬
sation was widespread. One smelled it everywhere. Thousands wanted
out of the war at any cost. They were homesick. They were terrorised
by the slaughter they had seen in the front line. There was nothing
beautiful about this war. nor indeed is there anything beautiful about
any war.

Back to Dublin

By the time I left the hospital, it was July, 1918. The German
offensive had spent itself in June, they were now in a helter-skelter
retreat. The few miles of northern France that they had gained in their
three month offensive at the cost of one million lives were lost in a few
weeks. I joined my regiment — of course I had no choice — and I
continued to cook for them on the road to Brussels, and in that city. I
followed them into Germany as part of the army of occupation, to
Cologne, where I remained until well into 1919. This was my first taste
of foreign travel, and I had begun to like it. It was a strange time and a
strange way to see Europe, but at least the cities and towns that we now
visited were intact, even if the people looked gaunt and war weary. I
was returned to Ireland with other Irishmen in the summer of 1919 and
demobbed at the Curragh. I returned hot-foot to Dublin. It was
strange to be coming there on a British Army pass but I felt thrilled to
be home again. Never did I feel so glad at seeing a city. It was only two
and a half years since I had left it but it seemed an age.

Work in my trade was still slack. I continued to work on the slate, do
a day here and a day there, accordingly as our union was informed of
the vacancies. It went on this way for a few years. Things were very bad
economically, and showed no sign of improving. We had the Black and
Tans here, the War of Independence was in full spate. But these events
largely passed me by. The Treaty period came and went, and the Civil
War then struck us. My sympathies were with Eamonn De Valera, and

JOHN SWIFT

what they called the Irregulars. I was not greatly touched by this
struggle however; I had matured more in my political views, and had
become definitely socialist. While my sympathies were with the
Republicans, I did not expect a great deal from them. I regarded them
as slightly to the left of the Treatyites. The difference between them
was not sufficient to induce me to join them or to participate. I could
look at things now in a more detached way, perhaps it was a form of
frustration.

In Paris

At any rate these feelings, combined with an inability to obtain
work, induced me to- leave again. Another workmate and myself
decided that we would try Paris. Work was plentiful there, and I had a
fair amount of French from my school-going days, though it was not
the best of ‘spoken' French. Indeed, when we reached Paris, I had
some difficulty in the first few weeks in making myself understood,
though I quickly got over that. At this time they were building the Au
Printemps department store on the Boulevard Haussmann near
L'Opera. The French do things very elegantly. This was a superbly
constructed classical building. It helped me to understand the fine
points of architecture. There are two such stores belonging to the same
firm. One is the Galerie Lafayette at the start of the Rue Lafayette; the
other, at which I worked upon the building, was Au Printemps.

We lodged in another arondissement at Clichy not far from
Montmartre. It was a rough lodging house, peopled mostly by Lascars,
those are the North Africans one meets selling carpets. I remained in
Paris for about six months until I began to feel homesick for Dublin
again. I returned, back again to the bakery trade game. Things were
somewhat better now. I succeeded in getting a permanent job with
Bewleys of Westmoreland Street. Old Mr. Bewley had heard from the
Quakers in London about my being with them in Wandsworth, this
caused him to seek me out. Shortly after this they opened their bakery
in Grafton Street, and I was appointed assistant foreman there.
Ultimately I became foreman. Bewleys was now totally unionised. I
continued my interest in the union, and was shortly elected on to the
executive. I was a trustee of Dublin No. 1 Branch, while I* was at the
same time, a foreman. This was a unique situation in Dublin where one
could have such jobs but rarely held both. I continued in this way until
1935 when I left Bewleys and went to work for a while with Johnston
Mooney & O'Brien. In 1927 I joined the Irish Labour Party. The
General Secretary of our union was Denis Cullen. Himself and Archie
Heron went forward in one of the North Dublin constituencies as
candidates on their behalf. As my union was affiliated, myself and

JOHN SWIFT

other younger members felt we should join and help Cullen in his
campaign. Both he and Heron were elected, and Cullen became
par .amentary whip of the party. The Labour Party as such did no. do
particularly well, being returned with only thirteen seats
In 1933, having met Peadar O’Donnell, I attended'some of the
meetings which led up to the foundation of Republican Congress
There were a number of us at that time who were very critical of the
activities of some churchmen here. We saw the Catholic Church as
linked to some extent with the development of fascism in Europe
Mussolini had seized power in Italy in 1922, Salazar in Portugal in

! ;A,o r in l 9 erman y In 1933 and Horthy in Hungary. We did not
feel that Republicanism, even as expressed by Republican Congress
was strong enough to counter this trend. Traditional Republicanism in
f I s [' es P ect seems to be, that while they will condemn the Hierarchy
for being pro-British and reactionary, they do not criticise and
condemn the Church as a church. Some of us. who had turned towards
rationalism, did not consider this worthy of our support. Accordingly
we started the Irish Secular Society in 1933. Among the founder
members of the Society was Capt. Jack White, who had trained
Connollys Citizen Army in 1914-1916, Denis Johnston of
Dungannon, the playwright. Mary Manning, the critic. I was
1 resident, and Owen Sheehy-Skeffington was Vice-President We
found it difficult to get a place to meet. Not many wanted us. We met
mere fore by stealth in the rooms in Lincoln Place of the Contemporary
Uub. I wish sometime someone would write up its history. It was
founded by Prof. Oulton of Trinity College, in the eighties. Sheehv-
Skeffington s father was a member of it, as well as some prominent
people in Sinn Fein, including O’Leary Curtis. His son was secretary of
our society, while I was a member of the Contemporary Club I had
been a member since the twenties; it was a kind of debating society
holding its meeting on Saturday night. The past-president was the late
Dr. Roulette, a Senator who always took an independent line It was
not a drinking club. You could have a cup of tea only.

Women were excluded from the club. As one could raise and debate
any subject, it was not felt to be a suitable forum for women though
they were permitted to attend every fourth Saturday. Women are not
sufficiently developed to participate in fully open discussions, though
this viewpoint would hardly be listened to today. All of the people in
the forefront of artistic life here, writers from Yeats to Russell
painters, actors and playwrights were invited to take part.

One of our meetings received some unfavourable notice in the Irish
Press around 1933. This was whipped up by some of the Catholic
weeklies. The Contemporary Club ceased to welcome us, so we
commenced to meet in each other’s homes. We were few so we had

JOHN SWIFT

no trouble fitting in the average size sitting room. In the summer we
might meet al fresco in the Dublin Mountains. Finally, shortly after the
outbreak of the Spanish Civil War. we disbanded and sent our
remaining small nest-egg of funds to the Republican Government in
Madrid.

I became National Organiser of our union in 1936. and General
Secretary in 1942. We commenced to build Four Province House, in
1946. I was the inspiration force there, though it grew, oddly enough,
from our Disputes Committee. They had ironed out most of the
non-union shops; they therefore decided to turn their energies to
something beneficial. I intended that the new building should cater for
the educational and social needs of our members. We bought the
Baptist Church on the site for£10.(KX). demolished it. and commenced
to build. At this time we had a choir and an orchestra. It was but a short
step to create a film society and ballet classes for the children of
members. I bought 8,000 educational books for the library. I had
works by Marx, and the great revolutionaries, but if I had. I also had
the works of Christian writers which were intended to balance them.
We ran a restaurant in the library so that people had a chance of
becoming acquainted with our books. But it all came to naught. A
whispering campaign was started by some Catholic activists who did
not like the idea of some workers educating themselves. They worked
upon the executive committee, and persuaded groups who were
booking dances with us to boycott the place. I knew the crunch was
coming. Then one week while I was abroad at a food union meeting, a
dance-band leader attached to the place invited in Greene’s, the
second-hand book people. They bid a few hundred pounds upon the
8.000 volumes and removed them. It was the end of heresy in Dublin.
It was the end too of the ballet classes, the cinema club, the records,
the choir and the orchestra. The whole cultural edifice which we had
worked so hard to create within our building was wound down.

When one looks at the selfish barren world created by our modern
consumer society, with the poorest of our youth exposed constantly to
the mass manipulation of the media, one wonders what harm exposure
to the teachings of Marx. Engels, or even James Connolly, could have
done to our young people in the fifties.

John Swift was appointed General Secretary of the National Bakers,
Confectioners and Allied Workers Trade Union in 1942. From 1942 to
1945 he was Vice-President of the Dublin Trades Council. In 1945 he
was its President. He was President of the Irish Congress of Trade
Unions in 1946-47. In 1964 he became President of the International
Foodworkers Union at Stockholm. He is President of the Ireland-USSR
Friendship Society since 1964. Since 1974 he has been President of the
Irish Labour History Society.

Tomas
6 Maoileoin

Sean Forde,

Commdt. Gen. I.R.A.

_ J n was born in Tyrrellspass, Co. Westmeath, in 1894. Both my father
William and mother. Maire, were strong Pamellites and Irish
nationalists, although at that time, Parnell was long laid to rest. They
had seen Parnellism as a sort of parliamentary extension of the Fenian
tradition in which both grew up. We heard them speak proudly of the
obstructionism in the British Parliament; of the strategies operated by
Biggar and Dillon, whereby the business of Parliament was held up. If
this obstructionism held up Britain’s war effort in the Balkans, Africa
or the North West Frontier, or helped to publicise the awful conditions
of the Fenian prisoners in Portland Jail in Dorset, so much the better.
They supported Michael Davitt. because he stood for fair conditions
for Irish tenant farmers, a policy first propounded by other Fenians
like John Devoy and John O’Leary. As a small boy I stood on a
platform with Davitt at The Downs when my father was chairman. His
picture. The Dead Irish Hero’. hung in our home at Meedin
alongside “Emmet’s Speech from the Dock’’. They had hoped, of
course, that this militant Fenian and Parliamentary tradition would
merge and be translated into an extra parliamentary and revolutionary
agitational) But that was not to be. 3

My parents, although deeply religious in most respects, abhorred
ecclesiastical interference in cultural and national affairs. This
inevitably caused some difficulties, especially as my mother was a
schoolteacher. When I came to make my first confession, I had to go to
another parish, because my mother refused to teach me the prayers in
English. She had been inspired by the recently founded Gaelic
League. (1893), of Douglas Hyde, Eoin MacNeill and Fr. Eugene
O’Growney; possibly also by the strong economic and cultural
nationalism of D. P. Moran in The Leader^ 2) Something of the
trenchant spirit of his Batde of Two CiviTisations — which still goes on
though Gaelic Ireland may be losing it now — entered into her. The
Irish language and Irish history became the cultural keystone of our

TOMAS 6 MAOILE6IN

home and of the school to such an extent that it brought the Board of
Education down upon her. They considered there was too much of it.
The parish priest, the officially appointed Manager, did not support
her. He had his own geardn. She taught the children their prayers in
Irish, and worse still, the Cathechism in use in the school was the
•Fenian’ one of Archbishop John MacHale. I don’t know if it was that,
or the fact that she would not teach the English hymn, "Faith of Our
Fathers”, that turned the priest.

When I was about eight years of age — my brother, Seamus, was
almost eleven — she was sacked by the Board, but that could not have
happened without the connivance of that priest. She refused to leave
the school, so, after she had staged a sit-in for more than a week, he
sent the bailiffs and police to put her out. When they failed to do this,
he joined in it himself, and there was a great ruaille buaille but in the
end she had to go.

My mother was born, Maire Mulavin, in Castletowngeoghan, in the
sixties of the last century. All her Irish was book learning or what she
picked up from travelling people, the journeymen tailors, tinsmiths
and cattle dealers of that time. She never turned one of them from the
door. The native tongue had long died out in that part. When she died,
she had a focldir of more than a thousand words and corr fhochal
gathered. In the circumstances, much of our early schooling was given
at home. She taught Irish to boys and girls of the neighbourhood at
night. That was a time when people would do those things and did not
need payment for it.

About this time, the controversy about getting Insh as a required
subject for the Matriculation in the new University was all the rage.(3)
She disagreed strongly with another college for Dublin, as she felt it
must drive the religious rifts deeper and force the North into the
backwoods. She would have preferred to see Trinity College expanded
and become a genuine non-denominational university. Such was not to
be. Once again the Catholic bishops and the British Government, in
unholy alliance, got what they both wanted: a rigorous divide of young
loyalists in Trinity from seoinin nationalists in Earlsfort Terrace. From
what they tell me now, the majority in the new Belfield are even more
seoinin and culturally rootless.

My mother did all she could to frustrate this, writing to An
Craoibhin and to Dr. O’Hickey, the courageous professor of Irish in
Maynooth, whom Rome cold-shouldered later on. A saintly man in
the real sense, he was a regular visitor to our house. Till the day of her
death, she had his picture by her, and written upon it: Sagart Gaelach a
dunmharaiodh ag easpaigghallda na hEireann. (4)

My father was a small farmer, and a quieter man entirely. He was
born in England and lived there for thirteen years before coming back

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

to Ireland, to his own native sod in Westmeath. We used to hear that
they had to leave because his uncle had fired at the local landlord.
Boyd Rochfort. Many’s the house he levelled, many’s the girl he
destroyed, many’s the heart he broke, my grandmother used to say. If
Old Nick hasn't him now by the throat, there isn’t a God in Heaven.
That was the middle of the 19th century, the heyday of Irish
landlordism and the Established Church; then they lived a life as
sheltered as the aristocrats of Russia. Of course not all of them were
that bad, but too many were.

LtAM Mellows

About this time my elder brother, Seamus, who was going for
teaching, entered an essay at Mullingar Feis. The adjudicator, a priest,
was not too satisfied with the views expressed on Tone, O’Connell and
The Young Irelanders. but he gave him the prize. Liam Mellows
happened to be present — he was travelling organiser for Na Fianna at
the time — and heard the essay. The upshot was he swore him into the
Irish Republican Brotherhood and he also enrolled me as a member of
the Fianna. When Seamus came home, he enlisted our young Seosamh
into the organisation. Liam spent many a while with us after that. He
taught us how to handle guns, and to make explosives. He had great
military knowledge and was well-read on all the great campaigns of
history. His father had been in the English Army, but his mother was a
great Irishwoman, descended straight from the patriots of Wexford. I
have rarely met anyone with such an attractive personality. The day
will come, he used to say to us. as he took our little class in history. A
good man too at sports, at playing the violin or singing. One great all
rounder, you could say. The constabulary were always after him seeing
what contacts he was making and where he was going. But Liam would
cycle ahead of them or cut across the fields and give them the slip. He
took a great delight in that.

There was some land agitation going on about this time. The
Brotherhood were unwilling to become deeply involved in what, too
often, was mere greed by other smallholders. But we would do
anything to upset the constabulary and keep them busy. It was about
this time (1911) that I first fired into a barrack, the barrack at
Dalystown. It kept them busy investigating for a week.

In October, 1913, inspired by the example of Carson’s Volunteers,
Eoin MacNeill. an Ulsterman himself, wrote in An Claidheamh Soluis
advocating the formation of a body-of iTish Volunteers. The
Brotherhood immediately took up the matter with MacNeill, although
they wished to remain in the background. A committee(5) was set up.
of which only three were I.R.B. members, and a public meeting called

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

for the Rotunda Rink on November. 25th. It was a great success.
Thousands were enrolled on the first evening. It quickly spread
throughout the country. I was close to Mellows at the meeting,
speaking later to MacDiarmada, who was well known in our house,
and for whom my mother had often carried messages. Padraic Pearse I
met there for the first time. I had no sense of the historic at that first
meeting, since I knew of him only as a writer in Irish, and one who ran a
most unusual private school at Rathfarnham.

1913 was the year also that my father died. He found it hard to scrape
a living from the land, never having much, and my mother being no
longer"in her post. He was only forty-six, a young enough age even for
those times. He never learned Irish, but he knew the prayers and many
of the songs by heart.

The great lock-out was now on in Dublin. We were interested in it,
mainly to see how far it might push the authorities. It was then that we
heard for the first time of James Connolly and his Citizen Army. I went
around to Liberty Hall. I saw the soup kitchens at work under
Countess Markievicz. but no sign of General Connolly. In July the
guns came at last for the Volunteers. They had been bought by Roger
Casement in Germany and brought to Howth in the Asgard by Erskine
Childers and Mary Spring-Rice. They were all converts from British
Imperialism to the cause of Ireland. Two of them were to die for it.
Seamus was at Howth that day, and later helped to get them safely
through the fields at Donnycarney, when the military and police tried
to block them at Clontarf. They were sitting ducks because there was
no ammunition in the guns and few of them knew how to use the
Mausers anyway. Most of the guns they rescued that day, they left with
the Christian Brothers at Marino. A temporary hiding place, it was
also the safest one. A week later, when the remainder of the 1,5(X) guns
came to Kilcoole in Wicklow. Seamus, with Liam Mellows, Con
Colbert. Bulmer Hobson and some more, was again present. This time
there was no interference.

Thf. Rising

We knew for weeks before Easter. 1916, that it was the date of the
Rising. Liam Mellows had warned us to be ready. On the Thursday,
Seamus came home from Limerick, where he had a teaching post. We
were to be at the Four Roads, Donore, at one o’clock on Sunday
afternoon, along with the people from Tullamore, Drumraney. Bally-
castle and Athlone. We were to break the rail link to the west, then we
were to march to Shannon Harbour and effect a link with Liam
Mellows’ forces holding Ballinasloe. It sounded like '98 all over again,
Ach. nimar a siltear, bitear.

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

There were seventy Volunteers in Tyrrellspass, but only seven
answered the call that morning. Of the seven, three were ourselves.
Some. I suspect, joined in our parts only as a means towards grabbing
land. We had only a few guns between us; two Howth rifles, two .22
rifles and some shotguns. Seamus had a .32 revolver and I had an
automatic. The other Volunteers had shotguns. We expected that, if
we reached Galway City, there would be a supply of arms there. We
left the house early, and the seven of us travelled, walking and in a side
car, to Donore. A peeler tried to follow us along the way from
Ballynagore, but we gave him the brush off. Seamus and I held him up
and took the valves from his bicycle. We also searched him, as we
would have welcomed another gun. He told us he would have to report
this interference with the law. At Donore we met up with “Major”
McCormack, who told us that the Rising had been postponed. There
were only two others at the meeting place. Word had come from
Dublin to McCormack’s of Drumraney, through Professor Liam O
Briain, then a student. He later took part in St. Stephen’s Green.
Home we went by Kilbeggan, not wishing to meet the energetic peeler
from Ballynagore. A reluctant motorcar owner took the guns through
Kilbeggan, otherwise we would have had to pass around the town.
That surely was the first car commandeered in the name of the Irish
Republic.

Monday evening we came together again. Seamus had been to
Drumraney meanwhile seeking information, and I had gone to
Tullamore. By now we knew there was a fight going in Dublin, but no
one seemed to know very much about it. We resolved to be in it
somehow, that Westmeath, which never had figured much in the
history books, would strike. With three more, we went down to
Ballycastle to breach the railway. We tried blowing a bridge, but we
were not too successful. With the aid of one of the permanent way
men. we lifted some lengths of track instead. Meanwhile Seamus went
off across the Shannon in a boat, seeking information and a possible tie
up with Liam Mellows. About ten of us stayed put in the house at
Meedin.(6) It was there that we were raided by police on Tuesday,
trying to arrest us. A volley of shots out the window put an end to their
attempt. It did not seem much at the time, but I was intensely proud
afterwards, when I learned how few places outside Dublin had struck a
blow in that week. And Meedin was one of them.

Pat Bracken from Tullamore returned with Seamus late on
Wednesday night. He had been around east Galway and Offaly, but
the story was the same everywhere. The countermand had done its
work and the boys had stayed at home. When they heard of fighting in
Dublin, they were confused as to what they should do. Militarily they
could not do anything. They were disorganised, and the element of

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

surprise was gone. To have attempted to take a post or hold a village
would have been a useless sacrifice. It could achieve nothing on the
Wednesday or the Thursday of Easter Week. Besides, holding strong-
points would not be our method of warfare, as the succeeding years
against the Tans would prove. A combination of new military tactics
and political cunning was what would be needed. We saw to that later.
We had the new military tactics sure enough in the twenties, before
anyone else, but, mo bhron, were we short on the political cunning!

Liam Mellows had come back from open arrest in England with the
help of Nora Connolly and his brother Barney. With amazing coolness
for a young girl under twenty, she conveyed him, the week previous,
from Leek in Staffordshire, via Glasgow and Belfast, dressed as a
priest. He arrived in east Galway a few days before the Rising, and
gave the signal on the Tuesday. He had about seventy Volunteers,
including ten Cumann na mBan. They captured the police barracks at
Oranmore and attacked Athenry. Earlier they had planned an attack
on the police at Clarenbridge. The local priest came out and persuaded
them to withdraw, which, I suppose, in the circumstances was the only
thing they could do, though I doubt if I would have agreed with him.

The constabulary came again to our house on Thursday evening,
and again on Saturday morning. We fired a few bullets in their
direction, and they cleared off again. They were not anxious to press it.
There were nine of us left in the house, but. on the Monday, when
news came that the fight was finished in Dublin, the six Volunteers(7)
from the neighbourhood and from Tullamore cleared off. Seamus
went off by train from Portarlington, hoping to slip back unobserved to
his school in Limerick — it was the Jesuit Crescent College and they
sacked him nine months after when he returned from internment —
but he had no luck. Outside the city, the train was stopped and he was
taken off.

AFTERMATH

On Thursday, the British soldiers came and surrounded Meedin. My
mother refused to admit them into the barricaded house, as it was one
of her principles that a raiding party should not be admitted, they
should be forced to break in. 1 was knocked down by a blow on the
neck, after a small automatic, a .25 Browning, had been found on me.
That was all they did find because we had time to transport the guns to
safety. Joseph and myself were held for a time in the local barracks at
Tyrrellspass. and were then conveyed to Mullingar. I was held a night
there. Joseph, being only seventeen, was sent home. I was then
brought to Kilmainham Prison, where I spent a night. The next
morning I joined the others at Richmond Barracks.(8) On the way

June 1919. De Valera arrives in the United States. His hand rests upon the old Fenian John Devoy.
Both men would shortly develop a deep antipathy and. when the time came. Devoy would go Free State.
From the left is Harry Boland. Liam Mellows, Patrick McCartan. Diarmuid Lynch

TOMAS 6 MAOILEODM

there. Seamus had been insulted and molested, but I saw none of that.
I arrived there on Friday. Sean MacDiarmada was still alive and in the
same room with me. He was in high spirits. You have a great chance
now. seeing they have waited so long, some of the lads said; they may
not execute you. He just laughed at that. He knew his fate was sealed.
Sure enough, on the 12th May. he was executed along with James
Connolly, for whose blood the Independent had been shrieking.(9)
Most of the executions had already taken place, but the real import of
the Rising had not yet had an opportunity to sink in.( 10)

There were twenty-five to a room in Richmond, with timber floors
and two blankets a man. By clubbing together, three of us could make
a “bed” with two blankets under and four over, and with our shoes
stuck under them for pillows. Three weeks we spent like that.

Some few days after, myself, Gearoid O’Sullivan from West Cork —
he was afterwards Free State Army Adjutant General — and six more
got involved in a "bucket strike”! We refused to empty the buckets
from the soldiers latrines. We considered that prisoners of war should
not be involved in menial work of that kind. Some prisoners thought,
however, that once you were arrested, you must accept reasonable
orders. One of those that day was Terence MacSwiney, afterwards the
Lord Mayor of Cork who defied the English for 74 days on hunger
strike in Brixton. (I tell this only to show how confusing life in a jail can
be and how important it is to have your own organised discipline). The
recalcitrant ones were lined up against the wall and barrels of guns
directed upon us. A Captain Orr was in charge. You have ten seconds
to make up your minds, said he. Don’t waste your ten seconds, said Las
we confronted him. It was an empty gesture on his part, because now
everyone wanted to take our places. Hastily we were shoved into cells
and left there for the night, but there was nothing more they could do
about it, and we had to be let go in the morning. That was the first time
I saw Robert Barton, cousin of Erskine Childers, still in English
uniform, but soon to join us. He released us from the cells. Asquith,
the Prime Minister, visited Richmond while we were there. He
actually asked me if I had any complaints. If we are prisoners of war. I
said, why are our leaders being executed? I did not realise it at the time,
but I was in some danger myself. They held us longer because they
considered courtmartialling us. but they then decided not to.

After three weeks in Richmond — by which time there were nearly
two thousand prisoners in the place — we were ordered to march
again. This time it was to the North Wall, and this time the
attention given to us by the people was very different. Every¬
where the groups clapped and shouted. Tricolour flags appeared. They
waved at us. More rushed out to shake hands. We knew that the whole
spirit of the nation had changed. General Maxwell had done good

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

work. He had won a great victory for the sixteen dead men of Easter.

O but we talked at large before
The sixteen men were shot.

But who can talk of give and take.

What should be and what not

While those dead men are loitering there

To stir the boiling pot?

I don’t want to spend too much time now on what happened in the
prison camps. It has all been chronicled before. Larry Ginnell, MP
visited us regularly. I had taught him some of his Irish. Mrs. Gavan
Duffy came too and spo*ke to me in Irish. The warder objected, but we
paid no heed. Some of us spent about ten weeks in the cells in
Wandsworth in London, before being sent to the internment camp at
Frongoch. It lies in a gloomy part of Merioneth in South Wales,
backward and lonely. Camp One was part of an old grain store, and
was laid out in conventional style with hutments. The grain store,
where I was, was hot and suffocating that summer. The rats in it were
so numerous that two Volunteers were appointed on each floor to
drive them off while we slept. We were our own masters however,
inside the barbed wire. Food was brought in daily by the guards. We
cooked it and supervised our own cleaning and discipline. Internal
control on these lines was to become the norm in Republican camps
thereafter. Wherever the authorities were not willing subsequently to
accord it, they had a problem on their hands. We received one letter a
week, rigorously censored; any remarks they did not like were cut out
with a scissors. Needless to say my mother’s letters arrived looking like
paper windows, with nothing in them. Later on in the jails of the
twenties and thirties, the Staters did the same thing. Will people in
authority never learn sense?

Mick Staines from Dublin was the O.C. in Camp One with
Commandant Brennan-Whitmore under him. On the camp council
were Henry Dixon, an old solicitor from Dublin who had been in the
I.R.B., — they were a power there —Collins, Richard Mulcahy and
five or six more were the top men in it. Mulcahy I held in high esteem as
a soldier at that time. He had been the power behind Thomas Ashe at
Ashbourne in the battle against the peelers there on the Friday of
Easter Week, when an inspector was killed and others wounded. I
remember well the speech made at one of the debates we had on what
should be done when we got out: Freedom will never come , said he,
without a revolution , hut I fear Irish people are too soft for that. To have
a real revolution , you must have bloody-minded fierce men , who do not
care a scrap for death or bloodshed. A revolution is not a job for

TOMAS 6 MAOILEODSI

children, or for saints or scholars. In the course of revolution, any man.
woman or child who is not with you is against you. Shoot them and be
damned to them. Do bhain se sin geit asam( 11) as ye might say. I had
already come round to the belief that revolution could be a mingling of
ideas, not necessarily all blood and sacrifice, except where that was
unavoidable. We could begin with revolution in our whole outlook, in
our manner of living, in education. The Irish people have never had
that. They have never experienced real revolution. Maybe they have
had too much of what Richard Mulcahy then believed in, and which,
when the Civil War came, he readily put into effect. I was reminded of
this very recently when I came to read Ernie O'Malley's Singing
Flame. He evidently considered him a very cold fish indeed; not one to
be trusted.

Leadership

Some of us were taken in batches from Frongoch to Wormwood
Scrubs in London, for interrogation. I was held there for a week, and
was twice before their board. I made my first escape at that time. One
night I nosed out under the wire, but having nowhere to go. I came in
again. I was released from Frongoch with hundreds of others in
August, only four and a half months after the Rising. All of the others,
including sixty exiles in England, whom they tried to conscript into
their army, were home by Christmas. It was a gesture in the direction
of America, one more push to get them into the war against the Kaiser.

I was no sooner back than I was placed upon the Army Council of what
was now the I.R. A. That was at a Convention in December, in Barry's
Hotel. It was again dominated by the I.R.B. and we were told for
whom to vote. There was one from each Province and two from
Dublin. Archie Heron was secretary. I distinctly remember Diarmuid
O'Hegarty there, afterwards Free State Governor of Mountjoy. He
was not the only I.R.B. man that ended up as a prison governor.

Apart from an odd break or two, I remained on the Army Council
until April. 1938. The spirit of the people we found had changed
completely. I could see now that, with the right political organisation,
we could sweep the land. But would the new Sinn Fein be able to
supplant and overcome completely the gombeenism inherent in some
of the Irish people and so manifest in the tired men of Redmond’s

Party? Without a real revolution — a revolution of the spirit_the

wheel. I knew, would turn full circle again.

I was sent to West Limerick where I met Sean Treacy. Seamus was
carrying on as a travelling teacher for the Gaelic League, but in reality
he was helping to reorganise the Volunteers. There was a grand
collection of men; Eamonn 6 Duibhir of Ballough, Dan Breen, Ned

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

Reilly, Seamus Robinson, Paddy Kinnane, Jimmy Leahy, Joe
McLoughney and Micksey Connell of Thurles. most of them to
become well known in the fight afterwards. This was in the early part of
1917. We already had a camp going at O’Dwyersof Ballough, and we
planned to ambush and disarm four R.I.C. guarding a boycotted farm.
That was two years before Soloheadbeg! We lay in wait, Paddy
Kinnane, Breen, Treacy and myself, but they did not come at the right
time. We raided Molloys of Thurles and carried away eight boxes of
gelignite and hid them in a vault at Annfield. Finally I was arrested in
Dundrum. while Countess Markievicz was down. I had some papers.
Only old love letters, said I to the police, as I stuffed them into the day
room fire. I was sentenced and lodged in Mountjoy on a two-year
sentence. There were' about fourteen of us there including Dick
Coleman, Austin Stack and Thomas Ashe. We were all on
comparatively short sentences under the Defence of the Realm Act,
for speechmaking, drilling and such like. The authorities tried to
impose criminal treatment upon us, refusing us association, the right to
refuse work and the right to refuse prison garb. Austin Stack made the
demands. They were rejected and on September 18th we broke up as
much inside our cells as we could. We stuck the Bible or the wooden
salt-cellar in the door jamb, pushing it closed and forcing it off its
hinges. There was a fight and we were pushed back in. A dozen peelers
broke into each man’s cell and beat us up right and proper. Everything
was whipped from us and we were left to lie upon the bare boards.
Ashe. Stack, myself and some more went on hunger strike. We were
forcibly fed, strapped in a surgeon’s chair. You know what happened
to Ashe. He died within a week; mistakenly the food was pumped
down the windpipe. It entered the lungs instead of his stomach. They
were not able to force my teeth open so they pushed the tube up my
nose. After poor Ashe died, we were relieved of all that; we were given
political treatment, but only for a while. At the first opportunity the
government tried to whip it away again. We had been moved at this
time to Dundalk Jail. Again criminal treatment was tried. We went on
hunger strike. After eight days we were released. Sean Treacy was
with us there.

I was now a H.Q. man organising in Westmeath and Offaly. Peadar
Bracken wasO.C., Eamonn Bulfin, brother-in-law of Sean MacBride,
was Quartermaster and I was Adjutant. Two of our Battalion O.C’s,
Paddy Geraghty and Joe Byrne were afterwards executed by the
Staters in Portlaoise in January. 1923.

It was easy to keep in touch from there with Mid. Tipperary and East
Limerick, two areas that I had my eye on. We had built up a close
friendship with Treacy, Seamus Robinson and Breen. Jimmy Leahy
was best man at my brother’s wedding in the autumn of 1917 at

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

Drum bane. In April, 1918, Lloyd George proposed conscription for
Ireland. There was united opposition to it from every quarter of the
nation. A pledge was taken outside the churches. Thousands joined
the Volunteers. We had no arms for them and could not hope to train
so many. In a short while most of them left, but the good ones stayed
At the height of the crisis, we even asked the local smiths to turn out
pikes. I often wonder what became of them.

That Christmas I joined Seamus, his wife and baby at Killeeneen,
near Craughwell in Galway for a reunion with her parents. We were
not there long when thirty police decendcd from Athenry and arrested
us. We were lodged in a cell. We were scarcely inside when we noticed
that the brickwork around the window — which was tiny on the outside
but sloped wider inside — could be dislodged if we kept at it. We had
only a three inch nail and a halfpenny. But we kept at it for four days.
As each brick came away we poured the dry lime mortar down the rat
holes in the corners of the cell. Then we carefully placed the brick in
place with just a dusting of lime in the joints. To disguise the noise that
we had to make, I used to sing. I had a good voice then, and singing,
even in jail, was not thought unusual. At night we would revert to
intoning the rosary. They were real long drawn out Hail Marys
fifteen decades at a time. The day room was next door, so we had to be
careful.

One day, while we were busy, Sergt. Wallace from Drumbane,
came. He was killed four months later when they rescued Sean Hogan
from the train at Knocklong. There were four peelers guarding Hogan
and two of them were killed. He looked at us both. The arm of the law
is a long one. You escaped in Tipperary, but you will not escape here, he
said to Seamus. You might get off with a few years, but the other fellow
can go free. I hat night the final rock was pushed from outside the wall.
We did not know what it might fall upon, or what noise it might make.
We had to take the chance. Seamus was barely able to push through it
was so small he had to be screwed through. He fell head first to the
ground, but it was not far and there was grass below. I could not
squeeze through myself, but it was clear that they were not going to
prosecute me anyway. They were very annoyed in the morning
I had thought they might let me go but I was wrong. They were
holding me “Cat and Mouse" after my release from Dundalk’. They
sent me to the Joy to complete my sentence but I escaped from there.
Arrangements had ben made by Dick McKee. O.C. Dublin, and Peadar
Clancy for a particular day; a rope ladder was cast over the wall, and
while some of them held back the screw's, twenty of us went over.

J.J. Walshf 12) Piaras Beasley. Paddy Fleming, Robert Barton were
among the group. We ran along the Canal. Someone gave me a
bicycle. I went with J. J. Walsh to Jones’s Road, where I spent the

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

night in O’Toole’s. Mick Collins and Harry Boland came in. My
clothes were in a bad state. Without a word. Boland, who was a tailor,
took a tape from his pocket and measured me. I'll have you right in a
couple of days. And sure enough a fine suit arrived at OToole’s a short
time after. While I waited, 1 refereed a camogie match in the Park, a
game I had never seen played before. Collins, meanwhile got into
earnest conversation with me. There were two factions in East
Limerick, he said. He wanted me to go there, to get the fight going and
end the factionalising.

Seamus had got clear away. Sinn Fein had come to power in the
meantime with the landslide election of 1918. D.O.R.A. had ended.
The British knew they were going to have another sort of fight on their
hands. He returned to his respectable teaching post in the city of Cork,
where he had infiltrated the police and detective force. Collins had
asked him to undertake this work; he was great with an teal hdn,
whether it was to a peeler or a prison warder he was talking. The
spiadoireacht suited him perfectly.

East Limerick

From September, 1919,1 was attached to the East Limerick Brigade
under the name of Sean Forde. My principal task was to act as arms
carrier from the Cork-Liverpool boat. The brother of the Assistant
O.C. of our brigade Donal O’Hannigan, was one of the crewmen and
our main arms contact. Donal brought the stuff to my brother s
lodgings in Cork, and from there, the girls ferried it by train to
Kilmallock, Knocklong or Emly. We were the first in Ireland (or
anywhere else) with the flying column. A dozen men was the
complement at first. They were trained full time fighters. Now the
Auxies and Tans had to raid in bigger numbers for fear they would
come up against us. This made them less effective. We moved from
farmhouse to farmhouse but the whole column was always dispersed
between three or four at any one time. Among the first warriors were
Tom Howard, Dave Flannery. Pat O'Donnell, Donal Muldowney,
Dave and Ned Toibin, Sean Nealon, Tom Murphy. Donnchadh
O'Hannigan and Muirisin Meade. By the end of the year, there were
fifty men"in the column and they had all done good work. I was on
Dai I Loan business as well, and that way I got to know everybody.
But the existence of the two factions — they could not be
harnessed together — worried me. I resolved to end the trouble by
making them attack the one barracks together. The local R.I.C. were
the eyes and ears of Dublin Castle. As long as they remained, British
power remained. East Limerick and Tipperary Three were the
brigades that commenced the policy of winnowing them out. The

TOMAS 6 MAOILE0IN 87

target chosen for our first attack was the R.I.C. barracks at
Ballylanders. Sean Wall was the O.C. but I was in command that night
It happened on the 27th April, 1920; we had thirty men but rifles only
lor eighteen of them. There were eight armed police inside, and they
let fly at us for all their worth. I went up on a neighbouring roof with
Ned Toibin, and climbed on to the slated roof of the barrack. We
smashed it with sledgehammers and hatchets, pouring in parafin at the
same time. Fire was already coming from our fellows at the front which
added considerably to the risk for the two of us on the roof. The police
were firing upwards from inside, but they were not sure where the hole
was as the ceiling intervened. When they heard the roar of the flames
above them, accompanied by the Mills bombs we dropped in, they
surrendered. It was, what I would call, a very reluctant surrender.
They tried a trick or two on us first, but I was ready for them. None of
them was hurt then, though some of them tried to give evidence against
us afterwards. None of the raiding party was caught for it. We got clear
away. We got a good stock of weapons, nine rifles and ammunition
that day. The modus operandi at Ballylanders became the method of
attack on all minor barracks thereafter. That, or the mine placed
against the door, so much so that Dublin Castle decided soon
afterwards to withdraw the R.I.C. from outlying areas. That was an
immense boost to our morale.

A month later, on 28th May. we attacked one of the strongest posts
in the country — Kilmallock. I was now Vice O.C. of the Brigade,
effectively its leader. We arranged for the local companies to block
strategically all approach roads at a pre-arranged time. Ned Toibin,
who was a trained smithy, had the sledge again, this time it was not
going to be easy. We had eighty men disposed in vantage points out of
sight around the barrack. Among them were people from neigh¬
bouring brigades. Sean Treacy, Mick Sheehan. Dan Breen. Mike
Brennan, Sean Carroll and many more, all anxious to see how it was
done. Ned could not reach across to the roof with the hammer. We put
an extension on it but that made the blows weaker. Eventually we
broke into the slates by flinging weights on to them. But we had a hard
task setting fire to the inside. They had lined the space with fire¬
proofing material. Grenades and everything were flung in but it was no
use. At last we got a waterpump and a drum of parafin. We pumped

the oil into the roof space and it took light. We called on the police_

English Auxiliaries mostly they were — to surrender, but they would
not. Firing went on all night until our ammunition was spent. There
was no surrender but the building was burned to^the ground. Later we
learned that Sergeant O’Sullivan and five police had found refuge in a
specially constructed refuge at the rere. but the rest of their comrades
— some say there were eight — were suffocated or burned. O’Sullivan

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

got promotion, but he was killed a couple of months later in the village
of Moyvane in Kerry. A generation and a half later, his son and my
nephew, Ailbe, met in Malaya. That son returned to Ireland and
visited Kilmallock accompanied by Seamus. Together they said a
prayer at the spot where the fortress used to be. It was ten weeks
before the inevitable blow fell upon the civilian population of
Kilmallock. Two lorry loads of Tans entered and caused havoc,
beating any man they met, and setting fire to many of the houses. On
the 4th August, 1920, we had a hastily organised ambush on a patrol
near Bruree. They retreated into a nearby cottage, where they held the
occupants. Although one of the patrol was killed and another
wounded, we were unable to press the attack further.

After that, on the invitation of the local people, we made a raid into
North Cork. This was in an effort to get the local boys going. We
captured thirteen police and took their guns. Meanwhile we had the
bother of looking after the captured British general, Gen. Lucas. He
was captured in June, 1920, by the boys under Liam Lynch in North
Cork. He and three other British officers were fishing by the
Blackwater. We were asked to take him over, but it was a confounded
nuisance looking after him. We passed him on to the Clare Brigade.
They shuttled him back to Mid. Limerick where they let him escape.
After that, in July, I was involved with the Clare Brigade, in an attempt
by them to take Scariff R.I.C. barracks. It was a badly organised
effort; the barracks was not taken. In another action in Clare, I
received a thigh wound. I was able to hobble along, but at the first
opportunity, I went into the Limerick County Infirmary. I was a
fortnight there, when Intelligence got a tip that the Infirmary would be
raided. If the Auxiliaries found me there, I was finished. I was
removed at night by stretcher to the rooms of Dr. Dan Kelly in the
Mental Hospital close by. I remained in his apartments until I was able
to move about again. As a precaution, however, he held a bed ready
for me in the Asylum ward. Should there be a raid on his place, I could
slip in among the patients there, and it would be difficult to pick me
out.

Before I was quite recovered, Fr. Lyons, a young priest of the city,
appeared breathless with an urgent message from Tom Crawford of
Ballvlanders. He had been shot in the chest by the Tans in a raid when
they went to burn Crowleys. The message said, that if a bar in the high
railing around the Military Hospital was cut, he could escape out a
window' and through the railing. But that was the previous day,
because the message had been delayed. Crawford would think we had
not bothered. I resolved that I must enter the Military Hospital and
arrange it with him for that very night. It was quite a risk to take. I
borrowed Fr. Lyons entire outfit, and taking Dr. Kelly’s car, I drove

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

to the main gate of the New Barracks, inside which was the Military
Hospital. I was admitted to the Adjutant’s office. Putting the best face
I could on it, I said I was Fr. O’Brien from Ballylanders. The parents of
this young fellow, Crawford, were worried sick about their son. Could
reassure them by speaking to him for a few minutes? Alas I could
not. The Adjutant was extremely sorry. I said I should have called the
previous day. and would he tell him that? I hoped that if he was told
that, that he would understand that the bar would be cut that very
night. But it was no use. Although we cut the bar in Casey’s Road, at
considerable risk to ourselves, the military were suspicious, and
Crawford was put on a train for Dartmoor that very evening.

One of my most formidable fights was the ambush at Grange,
midway between Bruff and Limerick. We had been informed that two
military lorries passed regularly. We were ready to take on two but
not eight accompanied by two armoured cars, and approaching from
^opposite direction to that expected. It was on the 8th November,
1920, that it happened. All the usual preparations had been made; the
local battalion acted as outposts, tree fellers and so on. At 5 a.m. our
thirty strong column was behind the high demense wall of The Grange.
The local lads were deployed on the opposite — eastern — side of the
road in such a position that their fire would not affect us. It was 11 a.m.
before the enemy appeared. Two of their advance lorries drew level
with our position, crashing into our barricade. We concentrated all our
fire on the occupants. I managed, from my position high upon the wall
we were standing upon planks placed on tar barrels — to fling a
small bag of grenades into one. They went off like one bomb and
caused vicious damage. But we were in real danger. All of the other
lorries had stopped out of range on a height above us, and their
occupants, vastly outnumbering us, were advancing down upon us. We
quickly signalled to the local lads to retreat eastwards, which thay
could still do. We were hemmed in a woodland, north of a small
stream. I he only shelter from the rifle grenades now raining down
upon us were some willows. With half of our column, I crouched firing
under the bank ot the stream, covering a neat retreat by the other half
into a thicket to the north west. As soon as they reached that point we
quickly made our way to them, while they fired upward over our heads
towards the stationary line of lorries. We were then able to make our
way across the road, two hundred yards on the Limerick side of the
ambush position, the two knocked out lorries blocking any British
advance meanwhile. I must say it was one of the best fights we had
been in, because we were so hopelessly — and so unexpectedly —
outnumbered. We had only one man wounded. They must have lost
eight or ten in the two foremost lorries.

We had a few scrappy actions then at Kilfinane and outside
Hospital; nothing of much consequence.

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

On the 10th December, 1920, we laid an ambush nearKnocklong. It
was not successful. Twice as many Tans came as were expected. We
had to retreat. The retreat would have got out of hand, only for the
courage of one ex-British soldier called Johnny Riordan. He hung
back, firing on anything that raised itself. Then he too started to pull
back But they got him as he crossed a hedge. One of our local lads
found him for the Tans had been afraid to follow up He managed to
get him to a doctor, but it was no good. He had been fatally wounded

and had lost too much blood. , „

Then on the 17th December, we had a real piece of luck at
Glenacurrane. It is a deep sided glen, two and a half miles north of
Mitchelstown on the road to Limerick and Tipperary. In some ways it
was unsatisfactory however, as it was the reverse of Grange; too many
of us and too few of them. Our flying column co-operated with
Commdt. Barry of Glanworth,(13) and our men extended in con¬
cealed positions for three miles overlooking the defile. We had just
one complication. A retired British Army officer was giving a house
party near Knocklong on that same evening. His guests commenced
approaching on our road a short while before the expected convoy^ We
had no option but to direct them on to a side road, where we held them,
ladies, a clergyman, children and all. at O'Brien’s farmhouse 150 yards

Shortly after that, two lorries, a dozen men or thereabouts to each,
and a Sunbeam car. came into view. This was our quarry, but not
nearly as impressive as the convoy we were prepared for. Still we had
to be thankful for small mercies. We already had a tree sawn through,
and at the first signal, it was allowed to crash across the road. 1 he first
lorry could do nothing; frantically its driver tried to reverse. That
would have been no help to him in the circumstances. However the
occupants of the second lorry, seeing what had happened, leaped out
and jumped the hedge, thus blocking it anyway. They were in no better
position there as our men were disposed in the whins just above them.
We called for a surrender though we were already firing into them. 1
think four were killed in that burst and most of the others wounded.
Realising they were in a hopeless position, they surrendered at once.

We conveyed the wounded to a farmhouse where we did what we
could for them. One was already too far gone, though he had plenty of
spirit Commdt. O’Hannigan called over a parson whom we had
among our civilian prisoners. I shall always recall the short
conversation that ensued. My poor fellow, I am a Church of Ireland
clergvman. Can l do anything for you? That's alright, old chappie,
answered the soldier, looking up at him; Don't you worry. I shall be

^A^short while after that, I had a very narrow escape in Babe

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

Hassett's pub in Birdhill. I was having a drink in the bar when nineteen
Tans walked in off a lorry. They piled down the three steps inside the
doors. A few lads that were with me sidled out quietly, but I was caught
close to the bar. My car — an old, hi-jacked one, DI 303 — was
outside, facing for Limerick. Their lorry, I could see reflected in a
mirror, faced towards Nenagh. One of them said to me: Have a drink.
No, I said; The car requires oil. I thought this lady might have some in
her store. Then I added: It looks like rain, as 1 made for the door, by
way of studying the weather. Reaching it, 1 sprang out and into my car.
The self-starter responded instantly. I sped down the road. Needless to
say they were on my tail and they fired a few shots as they climbed into
the tender. They turned it around. It was dusk now and I was already
off the main road, at the first left hand turn. I heard them pounding on.
Quickly I drove back to the pub and picked up Bill Hayes and the rest
of the boys.

From now on, although the Column hit out hard, it was up against it.
We had only about forty rifles, about as many short arms and some
sporting guns. We were permanently short of ammunition. H.Q. had
deprived us of the services of Donal O’Hannigan, our supply link with
Liverpool, by insisting that these supplies must be routed through
them. Collins objected to local units making purchases abroad. His
view was, and maybe it was the right one, that it would cut across the
purchases being made by H.Q. But it starved us. From the start to
finish we never had a machine gun; though we borrowed one once for
an operation in Glenbrohane. More unfavourable even than the
shortage of material, is the terrain of the countryside itself. East
Limerick is flat, farming country. There are no hills at all until you get
to the Ballyhouras on the Cork border, or over by the Glen of
Aherlow. The Tans and Auxies flooded into the area. Had it not been
for the support we were getting, we could not have held them. But hold
them we did, and after 1 was gone out of it, temporarily I may add, the
Column carried out some of its biggest operations. One of these
occurred on 3rd February, 1921, at Dromkeen, two miles north of
Pallas, when two lorry loads of Tans and police were wiped out. It was
a text-book ambush of eighty men — only forty of whom were armed
— eleven of the enemy being killed, with only two escaping by taking
to the fields. The Column lay in wait behind walls and hedges, spread
out a quarter of a mile along the roadside, from before dawn until the
early afternoon. No one in the neighbouring houses was allowed to
move out or to attend animals. But that sort of discipline was standard
practice whenever an ambush was laid. Thirteen rifles and five
hundred rounds was the booty. Muirisin Meade, who had been a
soldier in World War One did great work for us that day. He tore in
and shot all around him. I must tell you about Meade before we pass

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

on. He was in every army, the British Army, Casement’s Brigade in
Germany, then the I.R.A. when he came home. In the Civil War he
joined the Free State Army, but he was never much good in that. The
feeling for fight deserted him when he joined them.

As happened everywhere after an ambush, the Tans came in force
five days after Drumkeen and burned down the houses overlooking
the site.

Cork and Spike Island

But to retrace my steps a bit; the Column was allowed to quietly
disperse a few days before Christmas, 1920. Donnchadh O’Hannigan
and myself decided to take the opportunity of going to Cork to meet his
brother, Donal, and pick up a few revolvers, ammunition, automatics
and whatever else he could leak into us past the G.H.Q. ban.

We met Donal on Christmas Eve. He had a fair share of stuff for us.
We brought it to this house, but the Tans were already raiding along
the street. The women of the house, along with a few neighbours they
roped in, had to take the entire armoury on their persons and walk into
the church in Douglas Street nearby where devotions were in progress.
When the raid was over, they returned to the call house.

On Christmas morning I went with Donal to collect some
Parabellum stuff from the ship that he was holding specially for me.
Crossing Parnell Bridge, on our way back, we were halted by this party
of Tans. I had no gun on me except the loose ammunition. That was
worse. You could be hanged for having ammunition only. And things
were very hot in Cork just then. The centre of the city had just been
burned as a reprisal. Spies, including some prominent business people,
were being shot daily by our lads. Barry had already carried out some
great ambushes. 1 did not expect quarter if I was caught, whether they
knew me as Tomas Malone or the infinitely more hated Sean Forde.

Stick up your hands, growled one Tan. while the other covered me
with a rifle. 1 knew 1 was for it, but as he advanced, I lunged at him.
Donal fled instantly in the opposite direction, while I ran to the further
end of the bridge. Shot after shot rang from the rifle. I do not know
how they missed as there was no one else about, I sprinted hard for
they had started to come after me. As luck would have it. as I rounded
into this side street, I ran into a second party, all alerted by the firing. It
was Christmas Day, and there were no shops open. There was no
escape from the street. I was caught.

Quickly the first party came up. One levelled his gun at my face and
fired point blank. I ducked and threw myself at him. There were four
guns levelled at me, so there was no hope of escape. I just wanted to
avert being shot down on the footpath. I caught his gun hand, turned it

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

into his body and squeezed the trigger. There was no report. He had
already emptied it firing after me. At that moment I felt an awful blow
on the head — from a rifle butt, and I slumped on the pavement
unconscious.

When I came to, I was in handcuffs in Union Quay Barracks. 1 was
ringed by black uniformed Auxiliary officers. They had found the
Parrabellum ammunition on me. Things were looking ugly as they had
been drinking. I was seated on a low stool with my hands locked behind
and questions were being shot from all directions. Then this R.I.C.
man made a lunge at me with his boot. He caught me fair in the mouth
knocking out every tooth I had. I searched with my swelling tongue for
the bits of teeth as the blood oozed out. Just then, a District Inspector
entered; he ordered them out. Looking hard at me, he directed a sober
group to bring me to the Bridewell. I lay there upon a timber bench,
thirsty and sore, yet afraid to drink from the mug of tea they brought
me.

At about two o’clock in the morning, I was taken into a small day
room in which a fire was lighting. There were three military officers, all
masked, at a table. I grew distinctly uneasy. Again the questioning
started. Again I gave the best cock and bull account of myself that I
could. I thought it was safer now to declare myself as Tomas Malone,
even though they might charge me with escaping from Mountjoy.
However the more I could distance myself from Sean Forde the better.
One of them was writing everything down. Sean Forde came into it.
Did I know him? I met him twice, I said, and I described him. Fine,
they said, and they kept on writing. Then suddenly one stood up.
Abruptly he tore the paper in pieces. We will begin again , and this time
you will tell the truth.

One of them then placed very deliberately a tongs in the fire. I could
not see it, but I knew that it was reddening. The third fellow
approached from behind, and with a firm grip, ripped down my coat,
waistcoat and shirt. I felt pretty sick. I could feel the heat from the
tongs close to my back. The man at the table had commenced a
question and I was licking my lips to reply. At that moment the tongs
was caressed along my back. I fell forward with the shock and pain.
Struggling to my feet, I let them have the weight of my tongue for
treating a prisoner so. They forgot the tongs and lunged at me instead.
I received a rain of blows before I collapsed again. Out with him and
plug him , one said. A sergeant and corporal entered. Supporting me
under both armpits, I was guided back to the cell. I lay there more dead
then alive for two hours until they disturbed me again. I was pushed
briskly towards a lorry in the yard, hoisted aboard and carried off.
Where? A roadside execution? No, it was not that. The lorry had
stopped at one of the few addresses I knew in Cork. Inside was a Mrs.

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

Hynes. Do you know this man? they said, pushing me towards her. Oh,
no, she replied gamely, but that did not suit me at all. You do, Mrs.
Hynes, I called back. Don't you remember Tomas Malone? Given this
lead from me, she verified me. Yes, it is Tomds Malone from near
Tyrrellspass.

The crisis was over; whatever suspicions they may have had,
subsided. I was now treated as a fairly unimportant political prisoner.
However having ammunition was a very serious offence. Because I
had resisted enough to save my own life, I was also charged with
attempted murder. I was brought before a courtmartial in January and
condemned to death, but that, fortunately, was commuted within
hours, to penal servitude for ten years.(14) I felt sure I could escape
again. But could I? They were making it harder. I was put on a
destroyer and brought to Bere Island, where there were a number of
Limerick men already. We had barely become acquainted with Bere
when another destroyer came and brought us to Spike in the mouth of
Cork Harbour. Spike was almost my undoing.

The convicted prisoners were close to a camp of Republican
internees. One of these recognised me in chapel and, quite innocently,
slipped a packet of cigarettes to a soldier one day: Sean Forde is among
the convicts; bring that to him. The soldier knew nothing of Sean
Forde, but his commanding officer did. He informed his Intelligence
Dept., that he believed a prisoner among the convicts was the much
sought after leader. Would D.I Sullivan, late of Kilmallock, and now
in Listowel, be brought to identify him? He had seen him a number of
times in Limerick and was certain to recognise him.

This backstairs information was leaked through a captured
despatch, which fell into the hands of Liam Lynch. He realised my
peril. (Of course, I, being a prisoner, knew nothing about these goings
on, which was just as well). Without waiting, Liam Lynch sent two
picked Volunteers, Matt Ryan and another, to Listowel. They shot
Sullivan dead. Meanwhile Lynch sent me a message: We have to get
you out of there. It will be only a matter of time before they identify you.
Through the visiting chaplain, Fr. Fitzgerald, I asked the O.C. in
Cobh. Sean Hyde — brother of Tim Hyde, the jockey — to have a
motor boat close to the island the following morning. There was not a
day to spare as I had been notified that I was being transferred into
Cork that evening. That could mean only one thing. With me at that
time, and informed of the plan, were Sean MacSwiney(15) and Sean
Twomey. We were employed at this time making a golf course for the
officers. The course was close to the shore. At one point, near the
water, there was a small hollow, invisible from the barracks, in which
we would sit sometimes for a smoke. Usually the armed sentry joined
us there, but this day he did not. He remained with his rifle, visible

TOMAS 6 MAOIL.EOIN

from the barracks, on the slope above us. This disconcerted us. With us
was one soldier carrying a revolver, and a course supervisor. We could
deal with them alright; their presence merely complicated the issue. I
had been using a hammer on the axle of the lawn mower. Now I saw
Sean Hyde heave to. but drifting in, mar eadh fishing. The situation
had to be faced as it was. Take care of those two, I whispered. And I will
attend to the sentry. Half creeping, half running, I made up the slope to
him. He saw me alright, but he had no bullet up the breech of his rifle,
and he did not know but that this might be a game. When he attempted
to pull the bolt. I was already upon him, expertly swinging the hammer
at his temple. I had to prevent a shot being fired, or the whole barracks
would be alerted. He went down pole-axed. To make sure. I struck his
head a second blow. The two below were already overpowered by
MacSwiney and Twomey; they offered no resistance as they were
tightly tied, with a towel each as a gag through their jaws, while I stood
over them. Hands and feet were then tied tightly behind their backs
with electric cable. Sean Hyde saw it all from the boat. So too did the
boatman. Quickly they chugged alongside while I leaped into the boat.
Still holding the captured rifle, I reached for the throttle which was on
the steering wheel and pulled it open. Our course was due south, down
the open harbour, for Crosshaven, two and a half miles away. Sean had
a car waiting for us there. Crosshaven backed on to Barry’s territory,
where we reckoned we would be safe. We calculated that if we had
twelve minutes clear we were right.

Such was not to be however. We had barely pulled away when some
officers playing golf walked over to where we had left the soldiers.
They saw our boat and understood instantly. Quickly one blew a
whistle, tiring his revolver in the air as a warning to the fort. The fat
was in the fire without a doubt. I turned the tiller and headed due east
for the beach at Ringaskiddy. It was only a half a mile away, but it did
not suit our plans at all. There would be no car. Besides Ringaskiddy is
at the end of a narrow penninsula that is easily cordoned off. There was
also a coastguard station overlooking it, which we knew would be
alerted. Scraping rocks as I sent the boat hurtling up upon the shingle
we jumped out and waded quickly for the shore. I could feel the zing of
bullets coming from the fort, and heard them as they smacked upon the
rocks around us. We had reached the end of a boreen now. We were
running like blazes; it was every man for himself. At the top I saw the
coastguards. We had stopped at a corner and they could not see us.
There were ten bullets in the rifle. From behind a thorn bush, I let fly
four in rapid succession. They scurried back into the station. Quickly
we flaked past it. We were now in the village street. There was a
youngster with a pony and trap standing beside a butcher’s stall. Come
on! I called back. Four of us piled in. We had lost the boatman. With a
snap of the reins, the pony galloped away like flaming mad. He kept

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

going so for about two miles until we came to near Shanbally.
Somewhere there he dropped and the shafts broke. We piled out,
releasing the pony into a field, and hiding the trap behind the hedge,
we quickly crossed a main road, and up a hill on the far side. Soldiers
had already arrived on the road behind us forming a cordon. They
commenced to search eastwards towards Ringaskiddy. but we were
outside of the cordon, thanks to the pony.

That night 1 slept in a dug-out at Ballinhassig, eight miles to the west,
Sean Hyde's native place. After a few days, 1 moved towards Mallow,
meeting Liam Lynch there. I gladly exchanged my captured rifle for a
Parabellum again. 1 commandeered a motor bicycle and joined the
Column within a day. It was early April. 1921, and the Column, because
of enemy pressure on our territory around Bruff and Cappamore, had
retired to the west of the county. Seamus, my brother, was now
Brigade Director of Intelligence, a slot which suited him. I resumed my
old post as Vice O.C. of the Column. Shortly after that the ninety man
strong column had to be divided between O'Hannigan and myself. It
had grown too cumbersome for its purpose. About the same time, I
was appointed Director of Operations for the 2nd Southern Division.
The army was now being restructured into divisions.

It was about that time that I had a run in with a British intelligence
officer, named Capt. Brown. He was driving a car that I had hi-jacked
from D. I. McGettrick. and which they had captured back again. We
passed each other near Kilmallock. Recognition was instant and
mutual. We both squealed to a halt, sixty yards apart. At that range,
small arms fire would not be very accurate, so I started reversing back,
firing meanwhile. This was too much for Brown; he pressed his
accelerator and skedaddled on towards Kilmallock.

Seamus had had to flit from the school in Cork, because of a slight
indiscretion on the part of my wife, Peig. We had been married only a
short time. After my capture, she called to Union Quay, inquiring
about me. They followed her back to where Seamus was staying. That
blew his disguise, and he had to make off quickly, which was
unfortunate, for he had built up some great contacts through the
school children. His wife. Brid, got a rough time when they invaded
and ransacked their house. He's lying dead this minute, said one,
hoping to put the heart crosswise in her. If you've shot him, she called
back. 7 hope he took some of ye along with him.

I mentioned my own wife, Peig, a minute ago. We were married in
St. Joseph's Church in Limerick City the previous year in the thick of
it. Having no car. I hi-jacked a car belonging to District Inspector
McGettrick of the R.I.C. On the way to the church, she sat with a
urenade in her bag and a tommy gun across her lap. No one is going to
Interfere with us this day, she exclaimed.

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

The Conspiracy

After Spike Island, as I have said, I made my way back to the
Column in East Limerick. Seamus was there now, along with
Donncadh O'Hannigan the O.C., and Seamus Costello, Sean
Stapleton, Muirisin Meade, Sean Wall and a lot more. We had lost
some good men, Tom Howard, Willie Riordan, Jim Frahill and Pat
Ryan were surprised near Emly at a place called Lackelly. Twelve
I.R. A. were attacked by a big force of Tans. There was a bitter fight.
The day was saved by the arrival of Sean Carroll, of the Mid Limerick
Column, with reinforcements. On the previous day he had been
heavily engaged in an attempted ambush at Shraharla, which went
wrong because superior forces of the enemy arrived. The Column held
its ground, but they lost two good men, Jim Horan and Tim Hennessy,
and one who was captured, Pat Casey, was executed in Cork the next
day. I tell this only to show how tough it was; we never had it our own
way. It was very much an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth contest.
Don't let anyone tell you that war can be anything else.

We lost Sean Wall on the 7th May in a flying attack the Tans made on
a house where we were staying, between Annacarty and Cappawhite,
in a little place called Newtown. Seamus, Liam Hayes, Liam Burke,
Donncadh, John Joe O’Brien and Dave Flannery were there, all
Brigade Officers. They had our house surrounded, but they must not
have known who was inside. The story could have heen worse, only
Sean went out and drew them off. A first class soldier, he was Brigade
O.C. and chairman of the Co. Council. He had been attending a
meeting of the Division a week earlier, at Glenavar in North Cork, at
which decisions were taken:

(a) that all police taken in future would be shot on capture;

(b) that fire attacks would be made on business premises in England;

(c) that attempts would be made to shoot their Members of Parliament.
That is all in the history books.(16) I mention it here only to clear up
misunderstandings and to show that the struggle was entering a
rigorous phase. None of us had any intuition that there might be a
truce. Early in July, Seamus was summoned to Dublin by Mick
Collins. He met him in Barry's Hotel. Collins congratulated him on the
ambush at Drumkeen. It putthe fear of God into them, said he. He told
Seamus to contact a certain peeler in Kilfinnane, whose brother was
already working for us. Meet him in the parochial house, tell him about
his brother, and if he does not agree, get behind him and shoot him as he
goes down the steps. Seamus had had his doubts about the policeman;
he contacted him after the commencement of the Truce, but the man
refused to work with us. That same day, Collins brought him to meet
Sean 6 Muirthile. secretary of the Supreme Council of the I.R.B., and
later Governor of Kilmainham Jail, at the Connradh. 6 Muirthile was

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

keen to have Seamus back in the Brotherhood. He had slipped out of it
as he agreed with Cathal Brugha's view that a secret society within the
I.R.A. was undesirable. 6 Muirthile became extremely annoyed.
Brugha and yourself should he shot, and maybe some day ye will, he
shouted. Collins came between them, telling O Muirthile to get out.
Collins gave him a message inviting Donncadh O Hannigan of his own
brigade, and Mick Sheehan of Tipperary Brigade, into the Brother¬
hood. a message which. I am afraid, he delivered. Subsequently some
of these men — but not Sheehan — along with many more, toed the
line for the Brotherhood, carried out their instructions and supported
the Treaty.(17) Four days after the Treaty was signed, the
Brotherhood directed that it be ratified. No wonder Mary MacSwiney
wrote: Think of the I.R.B. setting its energies to pull down the Irish
Republic. And what became of them in the end? They shrivelled away
after the so-called mutiny of March, 1924. The trouble with the I.R.B.
was that it was allowed to exist too long.

I had a command in Limerick City in the first months of 1922.
Limerick was a crucial hinge weakened by the defection of so many
officers from our brigades, some good, some poor, that I have already
referred to. Clare was partly lost also, due to the defection of the
Brennans. They had not been great performers in the Tan War, but
immediately after the Treaty, the Mulcahyites, as O'Malley calls
them(18) curried favour with them. Every commandant won over
meant more votes and territory for Griffith. Ernie tells a story: / was in
McGilligans in Lr. Leeson Street in Dublin, a famous call house, with
Ginger O'Connell, the Assistant Chief of Staff. He seemed pleased with
life in general.!, 18a) Just consider, a few days after this abominable
Treaty was signed, a Treaty that split and sold the nation, and he could
feel like that! But no wonder. Many of these men saw themselves already
in a general’s uniform. O’Malley goes on: Beside him sat Michael
Brennan. Commander of the First Western, in uniform, (of course he
was! They were bewitched with the nice green uniforms, the Sam
B rowne belts and the leggings) curly hair, he says, handsome face, with
Clare accent. He seemed to be on good terms with the Staff now.
Formerly Mulcahy and Collins had been hostile to him. We are talking
about the army, said Ginger. We will be allowed to have twenty
thousand men. So that was it! Control of a mercenary army would solve
the nation's difficulties.

Fortunately l did not witness that scene, but I can imagine how
Earnan felt. He had spent May and June of 1921 with us in East
Limerick. He was again with us, in the city this time, in February and
March. The Staters were steadily occupying the city, taking over the
British posts as they vacated them. Rory O’Connor was not willing to
risk civil war. He would not back Earnan in the ultimatum he

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

presented to Slattery in the Castle Barracks. Between February 23rd
and March 10th the feeling between the two groups reached fever
pitch. Finally, as a result of intervention by Liam Lynch with Richard
Mulcahy, an agreement was reached. Republicans were left in
possession of the Castle and Strand Barracks, and all of the Free
Staters moved out.(19)

When I heard of the attack upon the Four Courts, we were at a
Divisional meeting in Cashel. I called for an immediate organised
response against the Staters in Dublin. 1 am convinced that, if we had
acted promptly, even then, we could have defeated them. I am aware
that numerically, they were superior to us and growing rapidly, but we
still had threequartersof the I.R. A., I mean fighting I.R.A. behind us.
Colonel J. Lawless, of the Bureau of Military History, told me many
years afterwards that, had it happened, he doubted if they could have
stood against us.

A month after the Civil War started, I was arrested by Jack Ayres,
then a Free State officer, in a yard in Nenagh. I heard that he phoned
Mulcahy. Hold him , the message came back, he is the most dangerous
man in Munster. I was transferred to Maryborough Prison. Within two
weeks I had an unexpected visitor, Michael Collins. He was on his way
south on the trip that preceded the funeral of Arthur Griffith in
Dublin. He asked me would I attend a meeting of senior officers to try
to put an end to this damned thing. He made arrangements with the
Governor of the jail that I was to be released. As he went out, he
slapped one fist into a palm in characteristic fashion: That's fine , the
three Toms will fix it.

The three Toms mentioned by him were Tom Barry, Tom Hales and
myself. We were to meet in Cork with some of his officers and arrange
for a cessation of hostilities. No political negotiations were entered
into, nor were any political aspects alluded to by Collins, who
appeared to be acting alone. He simply said, would I go to a meeting
with his officers to try to put an end to this thing. His last words to Jack
Twomey, the Governor, was to look after me.(19a) Within a few days,
however, he met his death. The Governor was later sent in charge of
the Curragh glasshouse after we had burned the prison.

Peadar Kearney — author of the National Anthem and uncle of
Brendan Behan — was also there but as Prison Censor. The job was
distasteful to him. and he later reverted to his Republican allegiance.

The burning occurred as a protest against conditions there. It
occurred before the executions and had nothing to do with them. We
submitted our ultimatum, based on a demand for political treatment,
which was ignored. The top tier of cells, therefore, were set alight;
everything in them, bedding, furniture, our personal effects. Then the
next tier, and the next until ground floor was reached. Portlaoise, as
you know, has four tiers of cells in its two wings. Flames and smoke

(00 TOMAS 6 MAOILE0IN

billowed everywhere. We had to run out into the exercise yard to
escape from it. The Free State Army were drawn up inside, under a
Capt. Mulcahy. brother of Richard, or so we were told. They ordered
us to remain inside, which in the circumstances was impossible. We
emerged in a throng. They fired at us, but I am sure it must have been
over us, as only a few of us were wounded. Francis Stuart, the author,
was with us. He recalled some time ago on television how he
remembered myself as a black-headed fellow with bushy eyebrows,
standing among the now prone prisoners and angrily shaking a fist at
the Staters: Shoot! Shoot away! There was a Fr. Dick McCarthy about
at that time. He was well in with everybody. He married Dan Breen
and he married me. Peig. my wife, was anxious to visit me prior to the
fire, and he obtained permission from someone in government.
Approaching Portlaoise with her by car, he saw the pall of black smoke
over the town. There will be no visit today, he said. The bastard has
done it again.

Shortly after that I was moved to the Curragh. The Governor added
a P.S. to my letter after arriving from Portlaoise; Tom is alright, Peig,
but be assured he will not get away this time. 1 barely landed at the
camp, however, when I saw an opportunity to lie in the bottom of the
cart they had for removing the kitchen waste, me and another fellow
from Cork. It was Paul Collins from Portroe who helped to cover us.
We suffered in silence because it was a ticket to freedom for us. I
joined Peig before she received my letter. That was the 13th July, 1923.
I got clear away. I remained on the run for a few years until the heat
died down.

The structure of the I.R.A. had remained intact throughout the
Civil War and the period into 1924, following the Cease Fire, although
the Army itself had shrunk in numbers. I continued as a member of its
Executive.(20) The Chief of Staff was Frank Aiken. He continued so
until November, 1925. when he resigned to take part in the formation
of Fianna Fail, being succeeded by Dr. Andy Cooney. I knew Aiken
well of course. I always considered him cute, a bit of a namby pamby.
On that occasion he. with some others, put forward a “new direction”
resolution to a convention at Dalkey. This inevitably would have made
the Army a mere crutch for the new Fianna Fail Party, formed the
following April. I did not want that. I never had any regard for De
Valera. So far as I was concerned, he was never reliable. I gave no
support to Fianna Fail, although when they came to power in 1932,
they offered me, as I think they offered most top Republicans, any
commission 1 wished to choose in their army.

Aiken's intentions throughout 1925 were increasingly under the
microscope of men like Jim Killeen. George Plunkett, Dave
Fitzgerald, Andy Cooney and the rest. They felt very uneasy about the

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

101

relationship of the Army to the shadow government under De Valera,
Lemass and Ruttledge. Aiken was very friendly with De Valera: he
fawned upon him. It was feared therefore that he would be over¬
influenced by him. Peadar O Donnell therefore put forward a counter
resolution at the convention in 1925 which, in substance, removed the
Army from the control of the Second Dail, (to whose control it had
returned in October. 1922, after a seven month breach, following the
Dail’s acceptance of the Treaty). The Army, as a result of his
resolution, was to act under an Independent Executive henceforth. So
far as I know, that has been the position ever since then.

One of the first fruits of this new policy was the jail-break from
Mount joy,(21) organised by George Gilmore on November, 25th,
when nineteen men were brought out in a daring coup. There was
hardly a time after that, that I was not being threatened with
imprisonment. I was to see the inside ot Mountjoy on many occasions.

I did not agree to the Army promoting Saor Eire in the autumn of
1931. I objected to it. I saw it as a drift towards politics. That is why we
restricted it at the Army Convention in 1932 to educating the people in
the principles of Saor Eire, without publicly organising it. Likewise I
did not support the formation of Republican Congress in March and
April, 1934, for the same reasons, although I had a great gradh( 22) for
some of the people connected with it. Frank Ryan, for example, I
knew him well. A great old pal of mine. His only failing was that
whenever he saw a scrap, he had to get into the middle of it. Jim
Killeen was one of the best, sound and reliable. He used to cycle from
Dublin to Nenagh for a meeting, sometimes returning the same day. I
had a high regard too for Dave Fitzgerald: he was a good soldier and a
sound Republican.

I was Chief Marshall at the last great Bodenstown Commemoration
of the thirties, in June, 1935, when Sean MacBride was the principal
speaker. There were 30,000 present. After that, the Wolfe Tone
commemorations were banned by Fianna Fail. Shortly after that, I
parted with the I.R.A. myself because of the new turn of policy
introduced by Sean Russell. That was the proposal for a campaign in
England. There was a good deal of subterfuge from Russell supporters
in an effort to make us all vote a certain way. The Convention was held
in April. 1938, at Abbey Street, Dublin. Mike Fitzpatrick, who was
Chief of Staff, resigned, as did the entire G.H.Q. staff. Barry,
MacBride, Lehane and myself left at that time.

I must say. after a lifetime of struggle on tehalf of Irish culture and
freedom for the Irish people, I see no difference in the fight being
waged against English domination of this country today, and the fight
we fought in Westmeath in 1916, and in East Limerick in 1920 and
1921. As far as I am concerned, they are the same people at grips with
the same enemy.

102

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

REFERENCES

1 Parnell had told an Irish audience at St. Helens. Lancs, in May. 1878, that if Irish
members were expelled for obstructionist tactics, they would secede and assemble in
Ireland as a provisional government.

2 First published in 1900. but preceded by his articles in the New Ireland Review
from 1898 onwards. Papers like these identified a nationalist home as much as the
mixture of patriotic and religious pictures upon the walls.

3 The Irish Universities Act of 1908. set up Dublin (Earlsfort Terrace) Cork and
Galway as constituent colleges of the National University. Queens, Belfast, was a
separate college, thus anticipating by eleven years the coming fragmentation of the
nation. Though technically non-denominational, they were intended by the Chief
Secretary, Augustine Birred, as a gesture to Irish Catholism . . Lyons.

4 An Irish priest murdered by the pro-British bishops of Ireland.

5 The O'Rahilly. P. Pearse, S. MacDiarmada, Eamonn Ceannt. Bulmer Hobson.
W. T. Ryan. Piaras Beaslai, Colm O Lochlainn. Seamus O'Connor, J. A. Deakin,
Joseph Campbell and Sean Fitzgibbon.

6 Among those present, according to police reports later, were: James and Michael
Morgan of Tore. Dick Newman and his two brothers of Cloncullane, John Brennan and
Pat Seery of Rathnagore, Pat Bracken and Carroll of Tullamorc. and John Jordan of
Tyrrellspass.

7 Sean Sheridan. Sean O'Kelly. Seamus 6 Muireagain. Dick Newman, Laurence
Kelly and Pat Bracken.

8 Later Keogh Bks.. Bulfin Rd.. Inchicorc. The gymnasia used then forms part of
the Christian Brothers School there.

9 Daily newspapers and the media generally reflect in most given situations
establishment opinion, rather than public opinion which they exist to manipulate and
control. This can be seen in any war time situation. It was particularly true of U.S.
attitudes in the Vietnam War, attitudes that were eventually reversed and broken down
by the American public themselves. The clamour from the Irish daily press after the
Insurrection was one of universal condemnation.

So ends the criminal adventure of the men who declared that they were striking in full
confidence of victory and told their dupes that they would be supported by gallant allies in
Europe .... Ireland has been saved from shame and ruin, and the whole Empire from
serious danger.... The kiyal people of Ireland ... call today with an imperious voice
for the strength and firmness which have so long been strangers to the conduct of Irish
affairs. Irish Times April28th.

The insurrection was not an insurrection against the connection with the Empire; it
was an armed assault against the will and decision of the Irish nation itself constitu¬
tionally obtained through its proper representatives. Freemans Journal, May 5th.

No terms of denunciation that pen could indict would be too strong to apply to those
responsible for the insane and criminal rising of last week . . . . We confess that we care
little what is to become of the leaders who are morally responsible for this terrible
mischief. Irish Independent , May 4th .

A few days later this paper achieved what, in Irish Nationalist eyes, was ever
afterwards its crowning infamy when it published a photograph of Connolly with the
caption: still lies in Dublin Castle recovering from his wounds. The editorial declared; let
the worst of the ring leaders be singled out and dealt with as they deserve.

TOMAS 6 MAOILEOIN

103

10 Equally misleading are the reactions of top trade unionists in such situations
T here was no protest against the executions at the annual get together of the Irish Trade
Union Congress in Sligo in August. In the words of Desmond Greaves, ITiomas Johnson
launched the erroneous theory that Connolly had turned his hack on the Labour
Movement.

11 That startled me. It also startled Richard Mulcahy when he read it, in Seamus 6
Maoileoin s hook, selected by An Club Leabhar in 1958.' / read your book, said he to 6
Maoileoin, And I don't like it. I was thinking of taking a libel action, but in the end l
decided not to. However l will see that it is the last book of yours An Club Leabhar will
select. Information from a confidential source.

12 Later Free State Minister, until his resignation from politics in Sepember, 1926.
He then entered industry, establishing, among other things, the Solus bulb factory at
Bray. / accepted the Treaty with great reluctance and only because I was satisfied that it
was to be this mangled concession or none at all. Statement made after his resignation
Irom politics in September 1926.

13 Later O.C. Eastern Division: not the renowned Tom Barry of Kilmichael.

14 Of the twenty-four men executed by the British in 1920-21, ten were hanged in
Dublin, thirteen were shot in Cork and one was shot in Limerick Jail. Under the Free
State it appears to have been a deliberate policy to carry out executions in provincial
centres. Apart from Dublin, fourteen locations from Drumboe, in Donegal, to
Wexford, were used.

15 Both Hyde and MacSwiney survived the war and the Civil War, which followed,
and were on the I.R.A. Executive for some years afterwards. Twomey was the father of
Sean OgOTuama.

16 See 7 he Irish Republic by Dorothy Macardlc; Ireland's Secret Service in England
by Edward Brady and others.

17 See Cronin: The McGarritv Papers; also B'Fhiu an Braon Fola by Seamus 6
Maoileoin; also Ernie O'Malley: The Singing Flame where he gives an account of an
I.R.B. caucus held in Limerick in November 1921. for officers from Tipperarv, Limerick
and Clare, presided overby O Muirthile.

18 Chapter Three, The Singing Flame by Ernie O’Malley.

18a An article by Michael Farrell in the Irish Times of Jan. 27th 1983, records that
O’Connell was arrested by O’Malley and MacBride in this house and held through the
Four Courts siege. A martinet, with U.S. army experience, he was opposed to any com¬
promise with Republicans.

19 Dorothy Macardle says something quite different: While the pro-Treaty troops
were confined to barracks, all the Republicans, who had come into the city, marched out
with their arms, leaving the Mid Limerick Brigade in control.

19a His last so far as Tomas knew, but not his last. To the Governor he said- Get
the top of that wall painted white (to hinder escape). Collins was intent on winning the
scrap. At the cabinet meeting before the Four Courts attack he was the first to enquire
if the British would loan artillery, but it had already been promised to Emmet Dalton
in the Vice Regal. Ernest Blythe, Irish Times, Jan. 1975, gave fulsome details of his
request that the leaders be incarcerated “on St. Helena” but Britain demurred.

104

tomAs 6 maoile6in

20 An Army Executive meeting held on 11/12 July, 1923, on the day he escaped lists
the following: Present: Gen. Frank Aiken, Chief of Staff; Commdt. Gen. Liam
Pilkington, O.C. 3rd Western Division; Commdt. Gen. Sean Hyde, Assistant C.S.;
Commdt. Gen. Michael Carolan, D/Intelligence; Commdt. Gen. Sean Dowling,
D/Organisation; Commdt. Gen. M. Cremin, D/Publicity; Commdt. Gen. P. Ruttledge,
Adj. General; Commdt. Gen. T. O’Sullivan, O.C. 3rd Eastern Division; Commdt.
Gen. Tom Barry; Commdt. Gen. Bill Quirke, O.C. 2nd Southern Division; BrigadierT.
Ruane. O.C. 2nd Brigade, 4th Western Division; Commdt. Sean MacSwincy. Q.M.
Cork Brigade; Commdt. Gen. Tom Crofts, O.C. 1st Southern Division; Brigadier J. J.
Rice. O.C. Kerry 2nd Brigade, (substitute for Humphrey Murphy who arrived late);
Commdt. Gen. Tom Maguire, O.C. 2nd Western Division. Absent . Commdt. Seamus
Robinson. Substitute: Commdt. Gen. M. Carolan for Austin Stack.

It was a fairly good roll call of the considerable number of leading Republicans,
(including De Valera as President) who managed to avoid arrest by Free State forces
during the Civil War. Barry had been imprisoned for a short period, but escaped from
Gormanston Camp. The main business at this mid July meeting was relations between
the shadow government and the army; a proposition by De Valera, when he arrived, that
they contest the Free State elections the following month, (which they did successfully)
and a strong directive against Volunteers emigrating, (see Connie Neenan). The Fianna
was also to be encouraged, and a sum of £2(X) was advanced towards that. The Army
Council was then elected and consisted of Aiken, Pilkington. Quirke. Rice and
Ruttledge.

21 See Appendix, p.393: The Mount joy Prison Escape.

22 Regard.

105

Sean

MacBride

Sean MacBride was bom on 26th January 1904, and baptised in May
at St. Josephs Church, Terenure.(l) His father was Major John
MacBride. who had organised an Irish Brigade in 1899 which had
fought on the side of the Boers in the Transvaal War of 1899 to 1902
The Brigade numbered over 250 men and suffered more than 80
casualties. In 1916 he was one of the leaders chosen for execution by
the British after the insurrection. This was the occasion when it is said,
he refused to be blindfolded in the prison yard of Kilmainham. I’ve
looked down the barrels of their rifles before, he remarked to the priest
attending him. Father Augustine, the Capuchin.

Sean s mother was Maud Gonne MacBride, a great beauty, and one
of the advocates of the emancipation of the Irish tenantry. In 1889 she
was one of the first to reach the forgotten Fenian prisoners of Portland
Jail, where they had lain unvisited for many years. She herself was
many times imprisoned. In her later life she devoted her time almost
entirely to the relief of Irish Republican prisoners.

Sean MacBride was called to the Inner Bar and became a senior
S° J !f n . se , in ^ rom 1948 to 1951, he was Minister for External

Affairs (now Foreign Affairs) in Dublin. He has appeared in many
leadmg cases m Ireland. Africa, and before international courts. In
1958 he acted as adviser to the Greek government and Archbishop
Makarios in regard to Cyprus, and was instrumental in securing the
release of the Archbishop from the Seychelles, as well as visiting many
countries on economic surveys, and on missions connected with
political prisoners.

We were sitting in the big drawing room of Roebuck House, with a
pale sunlight filtering through. The leather chairs are carefully
repaired. Some of the chairs and furniture seem set for a Yeatsian
drama. On the walls pictures and mementoes from abroad; his framed
and signed (by the principal statesmen of the time) copy of the

1<)6

SEAN MacBRIDF.

European Human Rights Convention 1949. High up on the wall a
laughing boy of two, Sean painted by Maud Gonne, on the piano
another water colour by her, of the late Lennox Robinson.

I was not in Ireland in 1916, said Sean MacBride. I was still a
schoolboy in France. I was aware of the national movement, of the
Volunteers, the United Irishmen, and especially of the Fenians, since
they belonged to my mother’s own day. She was, as you are aware,
connected with the Land League from 1886, and knew the great
Fenian John O’Leary. It was in those years that she visited West
Donegal and witnessed the eviction of the smallholders around
Gweedore. It was there she met the legendary Fr. McFadden, who had
done so much to provide leadership for the people of the area.

She helped to form the National Literary Society with W. B. Yeats. Dr.
Sigerson, Professor Oldham,(la) Douglas Hyde, John O’Leary, and
others, at the Rotunda in May 1892. This gave birth to the Irish literary
revival, to the Gaelic League, and to the Abbey Theatre, some years
later. In the following years she lectured in France, on British
atrocities in Ireland. These received wide publicity and greatly upset
that government. At the same time she was helping in a scheme to
promote village libraries in Ireland. Seven were established. In 1897,
she joined with James Connolly and Arthur Griffith in elaborate
counter demonstrations against Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee and
against recruitment into the British Army. It was on that occasion,
after a parade by the populace down Dame Street, on the night of the
Jubilee, that Connolly heaved the symbolic black coffin into the Liffey
with the cry; there goes the coffin of the British Empire. At that time my
mother did not understand the proletarianism of Connolly but she was
instantly attracted by his fervour, and at the same time the sheer
poverty of the man. He was living with his wife and four children in one
room in the Coombe. In a message to him, she wrote; Bravo, you have
the satisfaction of knowing that you saved Dublin from the humiliation
of an English jubilee without a public meeting of protest.

These were the stirrings of the new Fenianism which gave birth to
1916. That same year she travelled on a two and a half month lecture
tour of the United States, speaking everywhere on 1798, on English
mis-government, and helping to raise funds. When she was leaving,
Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa came to see her off. He was the renowned
patriot over whose grave Pearse made the historic speech in July 1915;
While Ireland holds these graves, Ireland unfree shall never be at peace.

On her return to Ireland she visited West Mayo as a representative
of the '98 committee. It was a poverty stricken area. She then visited
Kerry where she laid the foundation stone of the '98 memorial in
Tralee. She was present at the laying of the foundation stone on the

SEAN MacBRIDE

107

Grafton Street corner of St. Stephen’s Green in August 1898(2) but
refused to accompany Parliamentarians on the platform as they were
eulogising Wolfe Tone while trying to keep the people from following
his teaching.

The Fenian Backdrop

It was into such a background I was born on 26th January 1904. As a
child my mother related Irish history to me. John O'Leary was my
godfather, I knew all about him and his associates, Thomas Clarke
Luby, James Stephens. Charles J. Kickham. O'Donovan Rossa and
John Devoy. What are now names in history were familiar names to
me in my boyhood. Some of them were still alive. I knew for instance
that John O'Leary and Luby, despite their names were both
representatives ot the finest in Irish Protestant nationalism, in Irish
Republicanism, and that Charles J. Kickham. whom some people now
regard as a homely dramatist, was a bitter critic of the reactionary — in
national terms — Catholic Church of those days.

In 1900 my mother founded Inghinidhe na h-Eireann, which did an
extraordinary amount of good work and was eventually absorbed into
Cumann na mBan. In that year the Corporation of Dublin, for the first
time ever, refused to present a “loyal address” on the arrival of Queen
Victoria in Ireland. When Edward VII came in 1903, his reception was
of the same kind. No one nowadays can understand the tremendous
step forward in national terms that such refusals represented. The
principal streets were bedecked with bunting and Union Jacks, paid
for by the Unionist firms and employers: for the Corporation to insult
their majesties by refusing an address was a tremendous
encouragement for the national forces.

Casement

It was natural that 1 should be in touch with what was going on
because while we lived in France, we had a lot of Irish and Indian
revolutionary leaders of one sort or another passing through or staying
with us. Roger Casement used to come and stay at our house. I recall
him as though it were yesterday. This was the period from 1909
onwards, when Casement was re-discovering his nationalism, the
nationalism that eventually led him to the scaffold in Pentonville in
August 1916. But in these sunny days (around 1912) we were not
thinking of that. Instead mother and he were joined in fervent
discussions as to when and how the next great war would occur, and
what opportunities it would create for Ireland. They were both
informed observers of the international scene, and their predictions of

108

SEAN MacBRIDE

the outbreak were right to within a year. For that reason they wanted
Ireland to have her own independent trans-Atlantic communications,
then controlled by Cunard, and the White Star Line. Casement was
working on the possibility of interesting the German Hamburg-
America Line — which later did call into Galway — while mother tried
to involve the French Line. Later both he and my father were involved
in an anti-recruiting drive against Irishmen joining the British Army.
Casement viewed recruitment with abhorrence. Ireland , he wrote, has
no blood to give any land , to any cause , but that of Ireland.

My memories of life growing up in France were coloured by the
concern of mother about poverty in Ireland, especially among poor
slum children, the need to help home industry and her continuous
propaganda against army recruitment.

I came over in 1914 with mother for interview by Padraic Pearse in
St. Enda’s, in Rathfarnham, seeking to be admitted to the school. I
recall part of their conversation in which she spoke of a visit paid to her
by Casement a year before. Pearse’s school in the great Palladian
mansion, the Hermitage, that had once sheltered Robert Emmet, was
an educational success, though few knew of the financial struggle it was
to keep it going.(3) Pearse interviewed me, as one would expect a
schoolmaster should, about my level of education in France where, of
course, things were different, there being a great deal more Latin. He
never once mentioned politics. My abiding memory of St. Enda’s is not
a national one at all, it is of a smell of paint; the interior was being
painted, and there was an all prevading smell of paint around.
However, because of the sudden outbreak of the war, I could not
attend St. Enda’s.

1913

I was keenly aware of the great events of 1913, especially in the
Dublin lockout. Mother was quite closely involved. She spent much
time in Ireland trying to launch a free school meals project. This was
eventually got underway and gave tens of thousands of mid-day
dinners to hungry poor children. It was natural in these circumstances
that she would become involved with James Larkin; though she held
James Connolly in higher esteem.(4) Following upon the foundation
of the Volunteers in November 1913, mother allowed Inghinidhe na
hEireann to be absorbed into the new women's movement, Cumann
na mBan, of which Padraic Pearse's mother and herself were honorary
presidents. Another close friend of the family throughout that period
was Helena Moloney who, through her Women Workers Union, was
closely associated with the lockout. She was herself a radical thinker
and a Republican, being one of the founders of Inghinidhe na

SEAN MacBRIDE

109

hhireann; she was associated with every aspect of the national and
labour struggle right into the fifties. A life long friend of mother, she
was many times in jail. She was on the executive of Saor Eire in 1930.
and continued actively to work for Republican prisoners thereafter.(5)
A great friend too at that time, one who paid a lot of attention to me,
was James Stephens, the author of the Crock of Gold, and other
stories. He was full of stories about the Fenians, the legends of olden
Ireland, and the story of the national struggle right into our own
day.(6) He was a fascinating man, full of fun; able to sing and to act
well, like many of the people at that time. In 1916 he penetrated
through the streets and wrote an extremely fine account of the
Insurrection. His poem Spring 1916, is the best that had been written
on it.

At springtime of the year you came and swung.
Green flags above the newly-greening earth;

Scarce were the leaves unfolded, they were young.
Nor had outgrown the wrinkles of their birth:
Comrades they taught you of their pleasant hour.
They had glimpsed the sun when they saw you;
They heard your songs e’er had singing power.

And drank your blood e’er that they drank the dew.

Then you went down, and then, and as in pain,

The Spring affrighted fled her leafy ways,

I he clouds came to the earth in gusty rain.

And no sun shone again for many days:

And day by day they told that one was dead.

And day by day the season mourned for you.

Until that count of woe was finished.

And Spring remembered all was yet to do.

War Time France

When the war started in August 1914, we were in France. We were
trapped there and could not return. I remember I was in a village in the
Pyrenees at the time. Mother tried to get back to Ireland but, because
of her long history of nationalist activity, would not be allowed through
England. She was bitterly disappointed and lonely, as she watched the
swift march of events from afar, but was unable to participate in them.
To console herself and to do something for humanity she accepted an
invitation from the mayor of Argeles to organise an emergency war
hospital. Train loads of men. many of them already dead, were
arriving from the front. No provision had been made for casualties on

110

SEAN MacBRIDE

this scale. Quickly a hotel and casino were requisitioned and mother
found herself in the thick of it.

I was back in school in Paris the following autumn. It was there in
May 1916 that 1 learned of the death of my father. I have one very clear
recollection of an issue of Le Matin , the principal French newspaper,
which arrived one morning with much of its front page a complete
blank.

George Bernard Shaw had just issued a searing statement on the
10th May, condemning England's treatment of the rebels and Britain's
repression in Ireland. / remain an Irishman , said he, and am hound to
contradict any implication that I regard as a traitor any Irishman taken
in a fight for Irish Independence against the British Government , which
was a fair fight in everything except the enormous odds my countrymen
had to face. The military would not allow Le Matin print it, so they left
their page blank in protest. Such a courageous statement at that time
undoubtedly put backbone into Yeats and encouraged him to write his
own poems on 1916.

The war was at a crucial stage. From our school St. Louis de
Gonsage, one could hear the distant boom of artillery. Every Friday
we had a short ceremony in the chapel for the fathers, brothers, and
relatives of the boys who had been killed during the week. I recall on
one of these occasions how the Rector of our school made a most
beautiful speech, pointing out that France was fighdng for the cause of
small nations, and told of this small nation, Ireland, in whom France
always had an interest. It too was now fighting for its freedom, and the
father of one of their boys had just been executed for his part in that
struggle. It was such a nice way of dealing with the situation and
helping the boys at the same time to learn something of Ireland and
1916.

In September 1917, mother managed at last to leave France and
arrived at Southampton only to be served with a Defence of the Realm
Order forbidding us proceeding to Ireland. We were all forbidden to
go to Ireland although I was then only thirteen.

Active Service

Finally in the spring of 1918, mother was able to slip away and return
to Ireland. I accompanied her and joined the Fianna immediately on
my return. It had been founded by Constance Gore-Booth in 1909, and
due to the exertions of Liam Mellows, it had spread through the
country. The organisation was now being used as an active auxiliary to
and recruiting ground for the main armed movement, the IRA. At this
time we were staying with Dr. Kathleen Lynn, at No. 9 Belgrave Road,
Rathmines. She had been the medical officer with Countess

SEAN MacBRIDE

111

Markievicz and Michael Mallin in the College of Surgeons in Stephen’s
Green, in 1916. She was now on the executive of Sinn Fein. I also
stayed with Larry Ginnell. the rebel MP, who lived in Leinster Road,
and who was now an Honorary Treasurer in the new Sinn Fein. In
May. mother, along with hundreds of others was arrested in
connection with, the so called German Plot, and lodged in Holloway
Jail. London, along with Constance Markievicz, Hanna Sheehy-
Skeffington, and Mrs. Tom Clarke. She was not released until
November when she returned to her home at 73 St. Stephen’s Green.

We used to meet at that time under Barney Mellows in a little hall in
Skipper's Alley, close to Adam and Eve’s Church on Merchants’
Quay. I was not long in the Fianna however. In 1918 I was fourteen,
but I looked older, about eighteen. It was therefore easy to obtain a
transfer to the Volunteers. This was of course unknown to mother
because, while she quite liked my being in the Fianna, she would not
have wanted one so young in the Volunteers.

I was enrolled in B Company of the 3rd Battalion about the latter
end of 1918. Their area was from Westmoreland Street, along the
south quays to Grand Canal Basin, and back inasfarasBaggotStreet.
It was densely populated and included streets like Lower Mount
Street, that later Figured prominently in the guerilla fighting. The OC
of the Company was a man called Peadar O’Mara, but the real power
behind it was Mac O Caoimh. I quickly became a squad leader, then
section commander, then adjutant, or lieutenant in the group. We
then formed a small Active Service Unit principally from members
who were unemployed. We were on permanent stand by, constantly
seeking targets among the Tans and Auxiliaries in Lower Mount
Street. Brunswick Street and Townsend Street. These were arteries
along which their lorries travelled to and from Beggars Bush Barracks.
At that time with the warren of lanes, alleyways, small cottages and
tenements that backed upon this area, it was relatively easy to get
away, to do a quick change or to hide. At any rate they were most
unwilling to engage in follow up operations against us since they knew
they would receive no co-operation from the ordinary people. \ recall
often climbing the parapets of the Dublin and South Eastern Railway
— now CIE — and sleeping in a railway carriage. We would search
cautiously for a first class carriage as they always carried warm hot
water bottles. The staff never interfered with us. I had no feeling that
the Republican government in any way disagreed with our activity or
wished to put a damper on it. On the contrary Ginger O’Connell, who
was Assistant Chief of Staff, supported us fully. He would arrive on a
bicycle and make nines after an ambush. These would be published in
An t-Oglach, as an example of the sort of urban guerilla fighting other
units should engage in. Sean Milroy. TD. is the only person I can recall

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who tried to put a damper on us. He had a business near Westland
Row, and of course he wished us miles away, but we paid no attention
to him. Sometimes I used to think that the older men in our battalion
staff were less than keen, but that, I think now was because, being
older, they appeared more cautious to us, when in fact they simply had
more experience than any of us. There was one small incident at that
time which fortunately did not become too serious. I was halted driving
a car near midnight in September 1920, in Rathmines. With me was
Constance Markievicz and a emissary from the French government
Maurice Bourgeois. We were released after two days but she was
sentenced to two years for having organised the Fianna in 1909. She
was released after the Truce.

Early in 1921, Michael Collins sent for me. There 1 met Bob Price,
who was Director of Organisation, and Eoin O'Duffy, whom Collins
had brought down from Monaghan. Bob, whose proper name was
Eamonn, was an older brother of Mick Price. They were very pleased
with the ASU experience in Dublin and felt that it was time to use this
experience in the more tranquil parts of the country. I was sent to
organise ASU groups in Wicklow, Wexford and Carlow, a corner of
the country in which there had not been much activity so far. The
objective was the RIC barracks still in existence there; to force them to
withdraw from the area. Some of the men from B Company accom¬
panied me, though it was not to be publicised that we were operating in
the locality. I found a lot of promise in this area. Wexford was good,
while south Wicklow was splendid. I used to stay with Gus Colgan in
Wicklow town. Gus was a law student and so was I. We were therefore
already acquainted. Gus was the local intelligence officer; his uncle
was Christy Byrne, Battalion quartermaster, afterwards a TD and an
auctioneer. There was a man called Gerrard who was a Battalion
commander. The last thing any of them wanted was activity in their
area. It was alright if it was Cork, Tipperary or Dublin, but let ye leave
Wicklow alone. 1 circumvented this problem by putting them out with
some of my tough guys in the one operation. After that I had them:
there was no going back. There was one promising lad called Pearle: he
joined the Free State Army afterwards. In the weeks before the Truce
I got the first ASU going and we commenced our attacks by shooting
up the RIC barracks at Avoca and Rathdrum.(7)

Gun Running

About the same time, however, I was asked to perform another role,
namely to look into the possibility of obtaining arms shipments from
Germany. 1 worked with Liam Mellows and Rory O'Connor — the OC
Britain — on this. The first shipment came from Hamburg eventually,
and was skippered by Charlie McGuinness.

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113

Collins, I remember, as a dynamic personality. Brugha 1 did not see
much of until later in the Truce. Others whom I met frequently were
Commander J. J. (Ginger) O’Connell and Liam Tobin — they were
able fighters and went pro-Treaty later on; I was very close to'them.
Tobin was Deputy Director of Intelligence and had under him Tom
Cullen and Frank Thornton. Ernie O'Malley too: I spent the night of
Bloody Sunday with him in the flat of Lennox Robinson, whom
mother knew, in Clare Street. We arrived there later that evening,
dishevelled and loaded with guns. Lennox was sitting by the fire with
Tom McGreevy. They of course knew us. We could not have been less
welcome. They were absolutely miserable until Tom, in a flash of
inspiration, remembered an important engagement in Trinity,
whereupon they both vanished. For a while I sat playing a pianola
which Lennox had shown me how to play. We had the flat to ourselves
for the rest of the night.(8)

It’s either them or ns, and this time it’s going to he them, was Collins’
reported remark to Dick McKee. OC Dublin and Peadar Clancy, the
day before, as he inspected the list of names of fourteen newly arrived
British agents who were marked down for execution. (9) Mulcahy and
Stack,(10) I met only rarely: I had not formed any opinion of them. In
the run up to the Treaty most of my friends, as you can see, were
people who later supported it. At this time I led my life on three levels
at least. I was still attached to B Company 3rd Battalion and used to
drop in upon them whenever I could. I was leading an Active Service
Unit in the south-east, and I also got the job of training men for new
ASU’s at a camp in Glenasmole where Paddy O'Brien was OC; you
may know it there, the big house at the head of the valley, it used to be
known as Cobbs Lodge. Paddy, a brother of Dinny, was killed in
Enniscorthy the following year.

To your question, did the Army and the Cabinet think they could win
the struggle, that they could obtain an independent Republic? I must say
that I have no idea what the Cabinet thought and very little idea what
the Army thought save what Collins thought, since he was a person I
was close to. I was myself quite satisfied that we could intensify our
activities very considerably at the time. I knew that from my own
experience in the south-east over the last couple of months where,
from almost nothing, we had begun to get things done, particularly in
Wicklow. I also knew what possibilities lay in getting arhis landed in
the country. 1 had been down to see Pax Whelan and his friends around
Helvick. and we had a number of shipments planned. One ship that I
recall, the Sancta Maria, was brought in by McGuinness. You mention
also the Frieda, and there was another Anita, one of the first. It was
arrested before we left Bremerhaven, though we recovered very
quickly from it and followed up with the Frieda. It came in November

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SEAN MacBRIDE

1921, and was followed later, early in 1922, by the Hannah. We also
acquired a small coaster City of Dortmund. It was to ply from the
Continent carrying legitimate cargoes covering an underlay of
arms.(ll) There is, incidently, a very interesting story about what
happened the balance of these funds which had been banked in
Germany. The late Peter Ennis captured a report of mine to Frank
Aiken on that subject; Dublin Castle should have it in their archives.

So I felt from the experience we were gaining in purchasing arms
that we were on the threshold of being able to mount a much larger
campaign than we had mounted until then. I felt that, with the arrival
of these guns, we could step up the fight considerably. I also
considered that the morale of the organisation was good and that there
was no weakness in the determination of the Volunteers to see the
thing through. I was therefore very much against the Truce, when the
Truce was declared. I was completely against it — violently against it. I
came to Dublin following a leg injury in Wicklow; I came with the
intention of resigning. I saw Collins, and for the first time I was angry. I
said the Truce was a terrible mistake. I had thought De Valera
responsible. Oh , ho, said Collins laughing, we can use it to reorganise
and to get more arms in; / want you to start working on that
immediately. It was at that time I was appointed Adjutant at the
training camp, while at the same time I was sent abroad to Germany on
the various arms procural missions, that I have just related. Collins did
not give me the impression at that time, which other people are said to
have got from him, that things were at a low ebb in the Army; l could
not see that, nor could he. He told me that there was no necessity for
the Truce, but that De Valera and the others were keen on it. He may
have meant Mulcahy, whom at the time he did not like. I still felt that it
was a mistake. I must say that Collins did not argue against that except
to say that it would be a help in reorganisation and in putting ourselves
on a sounder footing.

Negotiations

At that time also for a while I was staff captain in the Adjutant
General’s office; they used to receive complaints from the public,
perhaps a dozen a day, about the misdeeds of Volunteers, or persons
passing themselves off as Volunteers, around the country. I had to
investigate them and provide replies; it was my first legal training.

On the tenth of October I accompanied Collins as his ADC to
London. There were six or more of us, and our real purpose was, that,
if the talks broke down, we would be in a position to cover a retreat
into a London hideway. The Plenipotentiariesf 12) as they were called,
had been given clear instructions from the Cabinet:

SEAN MacBRIDE

115

1 They had full powers as defined in their credentials.

2 Before decisions could be reached on a main question, they must
notify it to the Cabinet and await a reply.

3 7 he complete text of the Treaty to be signed must first be submitted
to Dublin.

4 In the case of a breakdown, the final text from the Irish side was to
be submitted.

5 The Cabinet was to be kept regularly informed on the progress of
the discussions.

It can be seen, that in the subsequent signing by the five plenipoten-
aries on December 6th — Barton and Duffy signing with great
reluctance only after the leaders had done so — they exceeded their
instructions in respect of 2 and 3, both of paramount importance.

From the time of our arrival over the next ten weeks I had a good
inkling of how things were going. It made me very depressed. Some of
them were drinking too much.(13) I could feel that the British
influence was slowly but steadily having its effect. They were all
impressed by the quality and statesmanship of Lloyd George and his
wily secretary Thomas Jones.(14) I cannot imagine that they could
have had any warm feelings towards Gallopher Smith (Lord
Birkenhead) the prosecutor of Roger Casement, or of Winston
Churchill, a person who actively disliked Ireland and whose rancour
we were to feel before many months had passed. They, with their
various naval and military aides, were men of consumate skill and of
world experience.

The principals of the
On the Irish Side
Arthur Griffith
Michael Collins
Robert Barton
Eamonn Duggan
George Gavan Duffy

two delegations were:

On the British Side
Lloyd George
Austin Chamberlain
(Lord) Birkenhead
Winston Churchill(14a)
Admiral L. Worthington Evans
(Sir) Hamar Greenwood

(Sir) Gordon Hewart (Attorney General)
(When it came to signing the Treaty the names were attached to the
document in that order; the Sinn Fein delegation writing theirs in Irish.)

One story that I recall, it must have been-fairly close to the Treaty;
Collins had come back to Hans Place and he described an incident that
had occurred that afternoon. Lloyd George, who was a small man, had
brought him over to a map upon the wall where a red coloured British

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SEAN MacBRIDE

Empire straddled the globe. Putting an arm around him he joked.
Come on Mike , why don't you come in and help us run the world!( 15)
Collins laughed as he imitated Lloyd George. But I knew that it had
made an impact; that he had been impressed by it.( 16)

Apart from my possible function as a bodyguard, my other task in
London was to bring their despatches back to Dublin on the night mail
from Euston. What surprised me later, when 1 had time to think upon
it, was that with negotiations taking place only a night’s journey away
from Dublin, they did not come back, at least at weekends. They relied
on despatches to keep in touch. Normally I would have thought they
should have packed up on Thursday or Friday and come home. They
could return to London on Sunday night. It would have helped them
keep in touch with reality back home. Instead they submitted to the
indignity of allowing the British to pressurise them with talk of a
special train at Euston and a destroyer at Holyhead.

I was back in Dublin again a few days before the Treaty was signed. 1
was still feeling very depressed. When therefore the terms were
published I felt that this had been coming; that British influence had, if
you like, infiltrated in a very clever way. It was no surprise to me. I saw
Collins on the morning he came back. He knew in advance what my
views would be. / suppose you don't like this , he said. No, I replied, /
think it is a sorry mistake . It was however quite a blow for me in a
personal way as most of my friends, Tom Cullen, Liam Tobin, Collins
himself, Gearoid O’Sullivan, were on the Treaty side.I quickly made
contact with Ernie O'Malley and Rory O’Connor, both of whom were
opposed to the Treaty, and for whom I had tremendous respect and
admiration. I commenced to work for them. For a short while too I
acted as secretary to De Valera. Yes, I think his five page Document
Number Two, which he put forward at private sessions in December
1921 as a counter to the Treaty, was a mistake. It confused the people.
However, remember, I had no opportunity of making my views known,
I was young. I was there to serve, and not to discuss policy matters.

The Split

It is true to say that most people regarded the Treaty as a new dawn
for Ireland. The newspapers, the churches, and the whole old
reactionary establishment put their weight behind it. The fact that
British troops would soon go from parts of the country was something
they had never expected to see. Partition was not regarded, even by
Republicans, as of great importance. They must have been lulled by
the Boundary Commission clause that led many people to believe that
the North would come in anyway. The Oath however was seen as a real
obstacle on a basis of principle. Matters continued thus, in a confused

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117

way, in the first months of 1922. The central government of the Free
State began quickly to emerge in January while Republicans hesitated.
I was busy anyway. I had to complete the arrangements already made
for importing arms; subsequently as a result of these efforts*, more
shipments did come in.

Did we feel, with Republicans and Free Staters each holding strong
points in the run up to June 28th — the attack upon the Four Courts —
that we were on a collision course? No. we did not. The pro-Treaty side
was known to be divided; one section was friendly to Republicans.
There was a good deal of collaborating in the transfer of arms between
Collins and Rory O’Connor. This collaboration continued right up to
the hour of the attack upon the Four Courts. They had been
transferring arms from Beggars Bush Barracks, to Charlie Daly and
Sean Lehane in Donegal. This was being done to impede the new Six
County government, and as a counterblast to the Belfast anti-Catholic
pogroms then in full spate and in which many hundreds of defenceless
people were killed. I do not think this collaboration by Collins with us,
was in any way a sham, or intended to mislead. Collins thought that
way. He had organised the shooting of Sir Henry Wilson, former Chief
of the Imperial General Staff, which took place on the doorstep of his
home in London.(17) This was his way of avenging the bloodshed in
Belfast. However, the speech of Winston Churchill in the British
House ofCommonson June 26th, must have had a tremendous impact
upon the cabinet here.(18)

I think that people like Blythe and Cosgrave had been undermining
Collins’ authority within the cabinet of the Provisional Government. I
think Ernest Blythe was one of the real villians of that piece. He
certainly appeared that way in some of the statements he made later
on.(19)

The Four Courts

I was in the Four Courts when the attack came. Three days later,
confined by the shelling to the south east corner and the cellars, we
surrendered. The building was a blackened shell. About a hundred
and eighty of us marched out, prisoners, bound for Mountjoy. We
were never a large enough garrison to have held such a building, nor
did we expect to have to hold it.(20) On the way there five escaped,
among them Ernie O Malley, Commandant of the First Eastern
Division. That at least gave me some satisfaction.(21) (The Free State
policy of summary execution for possession of arms, ammunition or
explosives — known as the Army Powers Resolution — came into
force in October. Four young Dublin men. taken near Oriel House, in
Westland Row, headquarters of the CID, were its first victims. The

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SEAN MacBRIDE

men who were executed this morning , said Richard Mulcahy
condescendingly, were perhaps uneducated , illiterate men ... we
provided all the spiritual assistance that we could to help them in their
passage to eternity. P. Cassidy and John Gaffney of the 3rd Battalion
and James Fisher and R. Twohig, were the four concerned. They were
shot in Kilmainham.

Other executions quickly followed. The IRA, mad at these killings,
resolved to counter the campaign by shooting deputies who had voted
for the resolution. On December 7th, Sean Hales, who had been a
distinguished guerilla fighter under Tom Barry in Cork, but was now a
Free State officer, was shot dead in a Dublin street. Padraig 6 Maille,
another deputy, was wounded. The Free State cabinet, spurred on it is
believed by Cosgrave, Blythe, Mulcahy and MacNeill, embarked upon
a policy of official reprisal.(22) Sometime after midnight jailers
entered the cells of Rory O’Connor, Liam Mellows, Richard Barrett
and Joseph McKelvey in Mountjoy, shook them awake and ordered
them to dress).

Reprisal

You were there then, Sean in one of those cells? Yes, I shared the
cell with Rory, Liam Mellows was next door, with Joe McKelvey, Dick
Barrett was close by. Liam Mellows was OC Prisoners in C wing and
shared cell 34 with Joe McKelvey. Dick Barrett was in 36 and Rory
O'Connor and i were in cell 32. Liam was in a pensive mood that
afternoon. Rory and I retired early to our cell where he was carving
chess men from an old piece of wood. While he worked we discussed a
rumour that Hales and 6 Maille had been shot that day. We had no
confirmation of it. Then we settled into a game of chess, a game which
he invariably won. While he waited my move he played with a
sovereign and five shilling piece; it was the gold and the silver that had
been used at the wedding of Kevin O'Higgins a little over a year before
when Rory was best man.

We retired early to bed. Bed was a mattress and three blankets upon
the floor. Quietly we conversed on the tunnel that we knew was being
dug in to reach us. Then we laughingly talked about the island prison to
which our captors threatened to send us. Which island would it be?

We had been asleep some time when the door quietly opened.
Someone came in and went out again. I was beginning to doze when
the person returned. He lit a match over Rory; the gas in the prison was
always turned off at night. I recognised Burke, a Free State red cap,
who later applied for the post of public flogger. What can he want, I
thought. I waited quietly for about half an hour. Rory was sleeping
soundly. There were more footsteps outside, and whispering. Some-

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119

one was now entering the cell of Liam and Joe. Paudeen O’Keeffe, late
Secretary of Sinn Fein, and now Prison Governor, came in. He
fumbled at the gas, cursing quietly. Then he lit a match, bending over
Rory. Mr. O'Connor please get up and dress. He spoke to me similarly.
The unusual politeness dumbfounded me. What can this be? Apart
from myself, they seemed only interested in the top people. That
would explain the politeness, I thought.

Candles had been brought, and we dressed quickly. O'Keeffe
returned. No, I would not be required. I could go back to bed. But I
was too puzzled to go back to bed. 1 wandered out on the landing, an
unusual liberty. Liam was tearing up papers and looking very solemn.
Joe was wrapping his books in a blanket.(23) Neither of them had a
clue as to what was afoot. I returned to Rory. Laughingly he offered
me the gold and silver. Take these; they have always brought me bad
luck. But I would not. You may need them , even if it is another prison ,
and not negotiations. Alright , he said, but take these chess men and give
them to young Kelly. Then, stepping out on the landing, he gave me a
firm hand clasp.

I followed him out, shaking hands with Liam and Joe. Joe looked
funny with his Santa Clause sack of old books upon his back. Dick
Barrett was already ahead going down the steps.

There was silence now in the wing. I started to worry. For the first
time in weeks anxiety gnawed at me. Executions had taken place, but
surely they were not going to shoot them. It was now around three.
One could already hear a few cars mixed with some spasmodic night
shooting. That morning, a holyday of obligation. Mass was late. From
where I stood I could see red caps in the Circle, the meeting point of
the four wings within the prison. That was unusual. A whistle went; it
was about 8.30. A wing fell in for Mass, followed by ourselves. Then
we heard shots near the front of the prison. A volley; another volley;
than a number of isolated shots. What was it?

As another batch of our comrades emerged past us, one called over,
they were shot. (24) 1 was too dazed for it to register. There must be a
mistake. Then, as we filed in, crossing above the Circle, I saw below
me a squad of soldiers; there were boiler suited workmen too. They
avoided looking at as. I saw that their legs and boots were stained with
earth. My thoughts ran to Oscar Wilde.(25)

The warders strutted up and down.

And watched their herd of brutes,

Their uniforms were spick and span.

And they wore their Sunday suits.

But we knew the work they had been at.

By the quicklime on their boots.

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SEAN MacBRIDE

Some months after that I was transferred to the prison camp in
Newbridge. I got caught trying to escape from there. I hid in a bread
van, very cramped it was, but I was hauled out and sent back to
Mountjoy. 1 never gave up the idea of escaping however. I watched
and spied out every moment for a weakness in their system. The big
moment came when a picked group of us got involved in a tunnel. You
entered the tunnel from high up in the building, from near the top of
one of the big chimneys. This one was extremely well organised by Dr.
Tom Powell of Galway. Others still around who helped in this were
Tony Woods, Tom Maguire and Peadar O’Donnell. We entered from
the ceiling of a cell on the top floor. We got in by carefully removing
portion of the brick vaulting. We moved carefully along and entered,
through a hole we* made in the stonework, one of the great twin
chimney stacks of Mountjoy. We had a ladder made from strips of
sheets, wire and blankets. This was lowered into the blackness. We
went right down to below basement level, and we commenced digging
from there. It was a hell of a job, one hell of an engineering job,
keeping candles lit in the oxygenless atmosphere. Peroxide of
hydrogen and a large home made bellows was used to produce enough
oxygen to keep our candles lit. We had no need for timber as the soil
under the Joy is the best of clay.

It was nerve wracking — apart from being extremely dirty — every
day dropping down the rickety ladder into a black pit, and toiling up
again to make an appearance in time for roll call. We had four extra
prisoners that they did not know about who could stand in for us. The
tunnel however, was going very well. We used yank up the earth in
pillow cases and pack it in the roof space, where of course there was
plenty of room for it. We used the water storage tanks for washing so
that there was no traces of clay upon us. We had overalls made in the
tailoring department that we could change out of before emerging.
Our work however, was in vain. Some of the other lads went on hunger
strike. It was the commencement of the great hunger strike of October
1923. I was against the hunger strike because of the tunnel. Few knew
of the tunnel, of course. Only a select number, those working upon it,
would be let in on such a secret. After a few days of hunger strike they
came in to turn on the heating. Nothing would work. We had
disconnected the pipework in the roof for our own purposes. They
came up and discovered this elaborate workshop. They went berserk
of course, particularly Dermot McManus, the pompous little needier
who had succeeded O’Keeffe. He made a great uproar; brought in the
hoses and batons. There was hell to pay.

They decided they would transfer the tunnelers to Kilmainham,
myself among them. And / escaped on the way. It was the simplest
thing in the world. Mick Price our OC and I, Daithi O’Donoghue and

SEAN MacBRIDE

121

some fourth person were placed in the lorry. I was sick of everything,
sick of the months spent patiently trying to bore out of the place. All
that hard work gone for nothing because of a hunger strike. I felt really
disheartened. We had a big escort, armoured cars and so on. But the
lorry we were in missed its way and somewhere around Berkeley Road,
lost the convoy and stopped. The officer inside our lorry alighted to
discuss the situation with the driver. I saw my chance. Nodding slyly to
the others, I hopped out and quickly escaped. Mick Price followed and
he too got away. I was not subsequently recaptured. (Eight months
later, by mid 1924, almost all of the remaining Republican prisoners in
Free State jails, were released: the hue and cry for Sean died down. He
was soon to leave the country anyway).

Abroad Again

1 got married to Kid Bulfin in January 1926. Tom Daly, brother of
Charlie of Drumboe. was best man. I was still on the run then, so we
left Ireland and arrived in Paris where I worked upon a newspaper for
something under a year. The Free State authorities, still sore at my
escape, tried to reach me there. Later in 1926, I returned to London
and worked as a spare night sub on the Morning Post, a deeply Tory
paper of that time. A year before this I had acted as “foreign”
secretary to De Valera for a short period. Archbishop Mannix of
Melbourne, who had befriended Ireland in the Tan War, and had tried
to come here in August 1920, was anxious to meet De Valera. He was,
of course, an old friend, having spoken on many of his platforms in the
United States. I was given the task of bringing De Valera over to meet
him in Rome. It was very hush hush. He had a great many talks with
Mannix; very long sessions. They went on for three or four days.
Mannix, I knew, was pressing him to recognise the Free State Dail. I
felt this was a turning point. I felt De Valera was trying to get political
control of the State from within. The breach with Sinn Fein, was no
surprise to me. I was back in Ireland of course from time to time. I was
here in November 1925 when George Gilmore carried out his dramatic
rescue of nineteen prisoners from Mountjoy. My car, a Model T, was
used. It was lost in the operation. But I was overjoyed by the coup he
brought off.

I recall too Moss Twomey’s accession as Chief of Staff, succeeding
Andy Cooney, in 1926. I had known Moss for a long time before that,
having first met him in Mallow before the start of the Civil War. What
else was I doing in those years? Well, apart from trying to study law.
and doing some journalism. I was travelling the country on the usual
HO business, encouraging units, addressing meetings and commemor¬
ations. I was arrested for a time in 1927, and then released. I was

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SHAN MacBRIDH

speaking at a Comhairle na Poblachta meeting in December 1928, with
Peadar O'Donnell, Mrs. Buckley, and Brian O'Higgins of Sinn Fein.
That was a new grouping they attempted to launch that would link the
political talents of the IRA and Sinn Fein. But neither group had their
hearts in it.

I was arrested in January 1929, in Offaly, and held on remand for
five months. The charge against me related to Comhairle na Poblachta
although they tried to make it sound like something else. In August, I
was in Frankfurt with Peadar at the second world congress of the
League Against Imperialism. That was one of those high sounding
organisations that we felt we had to support in pre-Hitler days.

In June 1930 Bernard Iago, who had been sentenced in 1922 to ten
years in Maidstone returned to us, accompanied by John Foley; he also
had done ten years. We had a reception for them at Roebuck.

In November we had a very large public meeting in Dublin by the
League Against Imperialism. The speakers sound like a Republican
Who's Who , Peadar O’Donnell, Alderman Tom Kelly, Helena
Moloney, Sean T. O’Kelly, De Valera, Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington,
Alec Lynn, Frank Ryan, and so on. That was the time of big meetings.
The following June, Cosgrave took fright and banned Bodenstown,
but it was held anyhow. Shortly after that I was charged in Listowel
under the "Cat and Mouse” Act, but was released by the local court.
We were being constantly raided in Roebuck House. Madame
Despard was living here at that time, and was as strongly Republican as
my mother. We were raided eleven times within a few months in 1931;
on the last occasion they brought seventeen men. They always
ransacked the place, although nothing much was ever found.

I would agree that in the run up to De Valera’s election success of
1932, the IRA itself, had lost direction; had lost political direction. The
old Sinn Fein party, the Second Dail remnant, did not count. But I did
try to organise Saor Eire in the late Autumn of 1931. I was its secretary
and put more work into it that anyone else. I felt a little bit fed up when
they all ran away from Saor Eire. That was one of the reasons I was not
enthusiastic three years later when a similar venture. Republican
Congress, was mooted. I did not want to get involved in another fiasco.

Fianna Fail in Power

I would not agree that I personally felt any sense of triumph in 1932,
and again in 1933, when Fianna Fail was elected, although the IRA had
backed them and was, to some degree, responsible for their success.
We were glad to see Cosgrave go. We were glad to see the end of
Military Tribunals, as we thought. This house itself had been raided
and ransacked by the Oriel House squads and later by the CID so many

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123

times, that we could not but view a change with relief. However, there
was no feeling of elation. I remember Frank Aiken came to see me
then, into this very room; Would I go into the army with the rank of
Colonel? I was highly indignant: I told him to get out. There was a
complete divergence between me and Aiken and Fianna Fail, from the
start.

I had endless adventures over the years with Frank Ryan. His
deafness was a terribly complicating factor, though it couid create
some humorous situations. Yes. 1 would agree, he was a real rough and
tumble character and a strong militant. He got on well with everybody,
could take a drink, danced and sang. He had no enemies within the
movement.

Activity during our honeymoon period with Fianna Fail was very
much as it had always been. More anti-imperialist rallies. A meeting to
welcome home Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington. in February 1933, from a
brief prison sojum in the North. She had a great spirit and was a
profound and deeply convinced revolutionary. Then unveiling a stone
at Soloheadbeg in September, speaking at Gweedore and Dublin the
same month. All the time trying to pressure Fianna Fail along
Republican lines, but failing, slowly failing. Anti-BIueshirt meetings
were the rage then. You will find Helena Moloney, John Brennan,
(Mrs. Czira) and mother prominent at some of these. Then around the
country again, Castlecomer, Castlebar, Tralee and Ballina, in the
1934-1935 period, before we ended up in College Green, in May, at the
inevitable prisoner protest. Bodenstown that year, with 30,000
present, was the last great Bodenstown. or so they say. It also marked
the end of An Phoblacht, edited by Donal O’Donoghue and Terry
Ward. Fianna Fail surpressed it.

I was not involved in Cumann na Poblachta, the IRA political party
m ^1 stayed out of it. I was on the run during much of

1935 and 1936. Prior to that I had been trying whenever I had the
opportunity to attend lectures at National University and to appear at
the Kings Inns Law School. 1 he lull in the police activities during 1932
and 1933 helped. When Moss Twomey was arrested in 1936, I
succeeded him as Chief of Staff. I cannot quite recall now the order of
succession; I think it was myself, followed by Tom Barry, then Mick
Fitzpatrick, and finally in April 1938. Sean Russell. I was out of the
IRA at that time. The 1937 Constitution had been brought in
meanwhile by De Valera. I felt that we could not oppose that.

On the Sidelines _

From then onwards I retired to the sidelines. I was defending
counsel in a large number of cases that you know about. I supported
De Valera’s policy of neutrality. I thought that he handled that very

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well. I felt he had been provoked a good deal into taking action against
the IRA. However, the executions were unjustified. I spent a good
deal of my time trying to pour oil on troubled waters on both sides. I
did not meet De Valera at any time as a go between, though we did
exchange letters and did meet socially on a few occasions. I was quite
friendly with Sean T. O’Kelly. He helped me a lot at the time that
Tomas MacCurtain was sentenced to death in 1940. He was very
helpful at that period. He was trying to get a reprieve; he advised me to
take any sort of delaying action I could in the courts, which I did. I
planned the moves very carefully. I went seeking a conditional habeus
corpus at 3.30 in the afternoon, the courts then rising at 4 p.m. I knew
that I would be thrown out. At 3.55 Gavan Duffy refused the order. I
lodged my appeal just before the office closed. MacCurtain was due to
be hanged in Mountjoy the next day, so it was a very close shave. They
tried to bring the Supreme Court together that evening, but they were
unable because Mumaghan, not the present man but his uncle — was
out, diplomatically maybe, walking with his dog. I think he guessed
what was going to happen.

Straightaway they had to postpone the execution for a couple of
days. After that I got it postponed upon one pretext or another, until
eventually it was commuted to penal servitude for life. During all this
period however, I kept in close contact with Sean T., Bill Quirke( 26 )
and others.

I was involved again in the case of Paddy McGrath and Tom Harte.
They were the first to be executed under De Valera, in September
1941. We fought that case on every available pretext for three weeks,
but we could not save them. They were determined to obtain a sacrifice
after what happened on Rathgar Road.(27) I continued to be involved
in all the long saga of imprisonments, executions, inquests, reprieves,
and so on right up to the end in 1946 — the inquest on Sean
McCaughey, in Portlaoise. Censorship had ended by that time; the
facts in that case could not be obscured. Yes, it was I who asked the
telling question from the prison doctor and elicited the equally telling
response, if you had a dog would you treat it in that fashion? I received
some satisfaction when he said, no.

Ireland Now

What of Ireland at the present time? There is a decadence,
nationally, which is quite worrying. This affects the Irish language too,
though it has never been one of my main concerns. Nonetheless I think
there is a sad retrogression in the language. That is bad; I think there is
a retrogression in the national spirit also. Economically we have not
improved as much as we make out we have. We are very often taken in

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125

by multi-nationals, and other commercial interests, coming in here
because of the tax structure or to get state grants. As soon as they get
this money they walk out. This is one of the weaknesses of our
economic policy. I am not sure whether the state companies engaged in
trying to attract industry know what they are doing. The one thing that
is terribly important is afforestation. We have built up a useful timber
reserve, but we are tending to slip back on this. I think we should
concentrate on afforestation. We should step it up. I am told by the
experts that an increase of 15% in our present planting rate could
enable us to produce all the electricity we require for the country
without resort to nuclear energy. Orders for nuclear stations are now
being cancelled because they have proved to be uneconomic. The
economic assessments on which they were based have proved to be
invalid. They are only in operation in practice for 40% to 60% of their
lives, being out of action or under repair the remainder of the time.
This in effect means, that you require two stations. On top of this they
have a life span of only twenty five years. The cost of disposing of them
at the end of this period is colossal. I have had correspondence with the
ESB on this; they are still going upon old estimates of cost and life
span, not realising how uneconomic they really are.

Is there a danger that we will be forced into an EEC defence pact?
Well 1 don’t agree that it is bound to go in that direction, but it is going
in that direction. We are the only non NATO country in the EEC. All
the other countries (apart from France which holds its own special
position) are in NATO. There is therefore an inevitable tendency to
use EEC lor NATO purposes. NATO itself is a highly dangerous
organisation, working in very close collaboration with South Africa,
and. I think, also Brazil. There is a danger of the EEC being sucked
into it. I always felt it should have followed the example of the Council
of Europe; it has an article which excludes all military questions from
its purview. I think we should have insisted upon similar clauses in the
EEC.

In our case there is a danger of being sucked into NATO strategies.
The West Germans have been accused of developing joint nuclear
capacity with South Africa. Germany is precluded from nuclear
weapons under the Brussel’s Treaty. She has circumvented this by
working with South Africa in that country. This is highly dangerous.
On one hand it is a violation of the Brussel’s Treaty, and on the other
hand it violates the non proliferation treaty.

We must remember too that America is dominated by the industrial/
military complex, which is colossal, as_ events now show. As
commander in chief of NATO they had Alexander Haig, who was a
Nixon appointee. So you had a man who was part and parcel of the
Nixon and Watergate administration, who was promoted in charge of

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SEAN MacBRIDE

NATO. He was promoted over the heads of forty seven US generals,
in order to be in that position. He was running NATO, the most
powerful position in the world.

In 1974 , Sean MacBride was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize , and in
1977 , the International Lenin Prize for Peace. His honorary doctorates
include those from St. Paul , Minnesota , Bradford , Guelph (Canada),
and Trinity College , Dublin. While Minister for Foreign Affairs in
Dublin , in 1948-1951 , he sponsored the European Human Rights
Convention , the Statute of the Council of Europe , r/ie Convention of
Economic Co-operation , arc*/ //ie Geneva Convention for the Protection
of War Victims. He also acted for the United Nations in Namibia ,
Cyprus and elsewhere , as we// as visiting many countries on economic
surveys and on missions connected with political prisoners. He has had
the post of chairman of Amnesty International , secretary of the
International Commission of Jurists (Geneva), and many other
international appointments.

Sean MacBride’s Account of the IRA Convention(28) of 18/6/1922
(From the State Paper Office)

Extract from a notebook , the property of Sean MacBride , which was
seized at Newbridge Barracks , July 1923

Newbridge Military Camp

I have decided to write this account of the events leading up to and
subsequent to the attack on the Four Courts, from my own experience
of them, for two main reasons:

1 To place in my mind the sequence of events and the impressions
they made on me.

2 In the event, likely or unlikely, as it may be, that at the end of this
conflict nobody would be left alive who would know certain events
of that period, or no record left of them.

After the split I was made Assistant Director of Organisation, Ernie
O'Malley was Director of Organisation. Most of my work consisted of
drawing up various forms, and of compiling from them statistics of
strength etc., of the different units of the Army; of organising and
forming units where there were none and sending out organisers, while

SF.AN MacBRIDE

127

Ernie was carrying out a systematic inspection of all the Divisions,
organising as he was going along. It was upon our department that
devolved all secretarial work of the Convention (of March 26th).

I used also to work with Liam Mellows, who was Quartermaster
General, and was aften despatched abroad on various missions by him.
I had been away on one of these errands for about ten days and arrived
back in Dublin on Sunday the 18th June 1922, after a very long and
tiring journey. I had left Friederichstrasse Bahnof, Berlin, on Friday
morning for London, via Brussels and Ostend, arriving there the next
evening just in time to catch the Irish Mail at Euston, by which I
arrived in Dublin some time before 8 a.m.

I went straight to the Four Courts where, after getting a wash and
some breakfast, I saw Liam who told me he was glad I had come back
as a Convention had been summoned for that morning, and that
nobody could find the papers in connection with delegates, minutes,
etc. So I immediately hurried off to make all arrangements required. I
then saw Ernan who had been working up to late and was getting up.
While doing so he briefly told me why this Convention had been so
suddenly summoned. Apparently three out of five members of the
Executive who had been negotiating on behalf of the Army with the
Free State HQ to try to reach an agreement, had agreed to certain
proposals which, if accepted, would have given complete control of the
Army to the Free State Government. That agreement provided for the
appointment of the Minister for Defence, Chief of Staff, etc., to be
made by the Free State Government, which of course would have
meant that the Army would have been entirely under their control.
The Executive rejected these proposals by 14 votes to 4. Tom Barry
proposed that a Convention should be summoned to consider these
proposals although he himself was strongly opposed to them. He also
wanted to bring forward a motion of his own at that Convention: in
substance his motion was that an ultimatum be given to Great Britain to
withdraw all her troops from Ireland within 72 hours.

Of course all these things came on me like a bombshell, as when I left
the whole Executive was quite united. But I hadn't much time for
reflection as it was getting near 11.00 a.m. and I had still a lot of things
to do. By the way I had brought back Hoover from Germany with me,
an arms agent whom we suspected of double dealing. On arriving in
Dublin he left me to go to the Shelbourne Hotel, and I made an
appointment with him at 11.00 a.m. in the Four Courts, where I was
going to charge him and detain him. Poor Hoover, I would have liked
to be there when he walked in unsuspectingly into the Four Courts and
was arrested, but I had to be in the-Mansion House, so I left
instructions to the OC of Four Courts for his arrest. I then went to the
Mansion House where I spent about an hour inspecting the credentials
of the various delegates. When at last the proceedings opened there

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SEAN MacBRIDE

was at first a long discussion as to who would act as Chairman, as
everybody who was proposed withdrew; at the end Joseph O’Connor
was chosen (the main reason being probably that he did not withdraw).

Liam opened the Convention by reading a report on the general
situation since the last meeting. As soon as this was over Tom Barry
was up to propose his resolution which was first on the agenda. He
didn’t say much; I forget who seconded it. I think then that some
delegates asked what was the reason that the motion came before the
Convention. Then bit by bit it was explained by various speakers that it
was the alternative to the proposals dealing with the Army unification
intentions which had been accepted by Liam Lynch and which were to
come subsequently before the Convention.

Of course, to my mind, it was very foolish of Barry to have put
forward such a resolution at the Convention. It was neither the time
nor the place for it. In fact it meant putting the onus of declaring war on
Great Britain on a body of men, who had been selected by various
units of the Army to select an executive which was to appoint a Chief of
Staff and to direct the policy of the Army until a Republican
Government was formed. I understand that Barry proposed that
motion to counterbalance Liam Lynch’s proposals and to avoid the
repetition of such incidents. As a policy the substance of his motion
was quite right, but by putting it forward at a Convention without
consulting anybody, as he did, was putting those who supported that
policy in a very awkward position.

Liam Mellows made a very depressing speech which showed clearly
that there was a very big split in the Executive and it became more and
more apparent as time went on that this split was on an absolutely
fundamental decision of policy. On the one hand there was Liam
Lynch, Sean Moylan and Liam Deasy, who were leading the opposi¬
tion to Barry's motion and who, immediately that motion was dealt
with would propose that the Republican Army be united and con¬
trolled by the Free State Army. (29) In other words this meant that they
were ready to work the Treaty and thereby signify their acceptance of
it.

On the other hand, there was first Tom Barry, who beyond
proposing his motion made no attempt to justify it or to put forward
any arguments to support it, and who, I think, hardly realised to the
full extent the meaning or importance of the proposals under
discussion.

Then came Rory and Liam who saw the huge mistake it had been for
Barry to bring forward such a proposal to a Convention; but who, at
the same time, understood that this was the best, or rather the only
policy, that could be consistently followed by us. They knew too that
this was the beginning of the split, (I should not say the beginning of

SEAN MacBRIDE

129

the split, as that split was really there from the start) which might lead
to the withdrawal of part of Cork from the Republican Army.

It was far better to break off quits from those who were prepared to
compromise on such a vital question, that of the control of the Army
and of the working of the Treaty. As in fact they had already done
when they acquiesed in the proposals by which the control of the Army
was to be given to the Provisional Government. It probably would
have been even better if such a split had come before, however
weakening it might have been; it was far more weakening to have the
Army controlled by people, who, although sincere, did not put their
heart into it and who still believed that our opponents could be trusted
in negotiations. In connection with this, it must be remembered that
there was hardly a promise made by those who negotiated with us on
behalf of the Provisional Government which wasn’t broken by them.

So it was in this frame of mind that Rory put up a short but a very fine
defence of the war proposals.

The rest of the proceedings remain a blur in n\y memory but I
remember that nearly everybody spoke, and some made long speeches
at that. Speech-making undoubtedly seems to be one of our national
failings. I also remember that everybody was depressed and solemn;
even Sean O Hegarty, and Cork No. 1, were not as uproarious as at the
previous Convention.

The question was put sometime about 8 p.m. Poor Peadar
Breslin(30) and myself were the tellers. We found that Tom Barry’s
motion was passed by a couple of votes. This was challenged on the
grounds that there was a Brigade there which wasn’t represented at the
last C onvention; after a long discussion the objection was upheld and a
fresh vote was taken and the motion was lost.

After this there was some more discussion on the whole situation-
during this Rory asked to tell Liam Pilkington and some other
members of the Executive that if the compromise proposals were
brought to the Convention, he was leaving it. These proposals came
and about half of the delegates got up and left, this created something
of a panic amongst the remaining delegates.

Rory, Liam and Joe McKelvey, held a hurried consultation just
outside the Convention Room. They decided to have a meeting of the
Convention the next day in the Four Courts. This was announced to
the delegates who had come out with them, and Liam fold me to go and
announce it to the rest of the Convention, and to get his hat which he
had left behind.

I went and I got Liam’s hat. Cathal Brugha was speaking. Cathal had
been strongly against Barry’s resolution, but was also strongly against
the compromise resolution because he thought an agreement could be
found, and that this wasn’t the best time to declare war on England.

134 )

SEAN MacBRIDE

I waited for a pause in his speech, and then announced that a
Convention would be held in the Four Courts the next morning. There
was an absolute silence and I could hear my steps like shots from the
top of the room to the door. A few more delegates came out.

The atmosphere created by this split within a split had a debilitating
effect on the Republican response to the Free State attack upon the Four
Courts ten days later t and may have encouraged it.

REFERENCES

1 The regular monthly report from the Assistant Commissioner of Police R.I.C., to
the Under Secretary at Dublin Castle for May 1904 records under the entry 5th May
1904. the following:

Names:

Joseph MacBride, Mrs. MacBride, Mrs. H. MacBride. J. O’Leary.

Suspect Joseph MacBride of Westport:

Chief Commissioner. D.M.P. informs Inspector General. R.I.C.. that Mr. MacBride,
accompanied by his mother, arrived in Dublin on 30th ult., and returned home on 2nd
inst. Most of their time was spent at Mrs. MacBride’s residence, and on 1st inst., they
were present at the christening of “Major" MacBride’s child at the Church of the Three
Patrons, Rathgar, (They got the name of the church wrong). Mrs. Honoria MacBride
acting as sponsor. It was intended that John O’Leary should be the other sponsor but his
declaration of faith was not considered satisfactory. (This was the O'Leary of Yeats's
‘Romantic Ireland's dead and gone; it’s with O'Leary in the grave'. O’Leary had for¬
saken Catholicity because of the Church’s attitude to Fenianism.

The same police reports — still regularly compiled, traces the movements of ten other
“suspects" in that month. The provincial rail stations were obviously used as kicking-off
points for tailing the suspects. Other prominent persons listed that month were, the
Dublin trade unionist and friend of Connolly. P. T. Daly, Dr. Mark Ryan, the London
Fenian, and Michael Davitt, “now in very straitened circumstances", the report adds. It
is amusing to think that in those days the policeman had to tramp after his suspect on
foot.

la Charles Oldham was Professor of Economics at U.C.D. in the first decade of this
century. Founder of Contemporary Club 1885, and friend of George Russell, Yeats and
O’Leary. Mild Protestant home ruler; believed Ireland should remain an appendage of
England.

2 11 was never erected.

3 In September 1915 Pearse wired McGarrity for £3<X) urgently needed to pay the
rent and to save himself from the political ignominy of being declared a bankrupt.

4 Too vain, jealous, untruthful, to make a really great leader was her opinion of
Larkin, Helena Moloney concurred. Samuel Levinson in his life of Connolly compares
the two to the great disadvantage of Larkin: the one, cool, calm, sober; the other, fiery
revolution incarnate, without logic, unpredictable

5 To Helena Moloney went the honour of being the first woman of her generation to
be jailed in Ireland’s cause. She was convicted of throwing stones in Grafton Street, and
fined forty shillings, or, alternatively one months imprisonment. You will get no money
from me. Sir. she told the magistrate defiantly. She remained only a few days in jail. To
her great chagrin the money was paid in by Anna Parnell, the sister of Charles Stewart.
The offence occurred a week after a vast meeting of 30,(XX) Dublin people held on June
22nd. 1911, the evening of the coronation of King George V. The meeting was held at

SEAN MacBRIDE

131

Beresford Place andwasaddressed by The O'Rahilly. Major MacBride, Dr McCartan
Laurence Gmnell. MP the Hon. James O'Sullivan of New York. Madame Markievicz
Arthur Griffith, Calha Brugha. Alderman Tom Kelly and James Connolly. George V
was to visit Dublin on Juty 8th. and ihe city was decorated with bunting. On the 4th a
small procession approached Grafton Street - then a den of upper-crust Unionism -

Filnnl“f nd Hp f Ma " S v " Hous f • 1 * was led Constance Markievicz. with her

Lianna, and Helena Moloney. Yeates, the opticians at the Nassau Street comer, then

had on permanent exhibition a giant spectacles. In each lens they had a portrait of King
George and Queen Mary. Helena had a handful of stones in her bag. She let fly with one
of these and was arrested. Maud Gonne telegraphed congratulations from Paris. From
Constance Markievicz by Jacqueline Van Voris.

6 Prophetically Stephens wrote in this book in May 1916: It may not be worthy of
mention but the truth is Ireland is not cowed. She is excited a little. She was not with the
revolution, but in a few months she will be, and her heart which was withering will be
warmed by the knowledge that men have thought her worth dying for.

7 Brugha. the Dail Minister for Defence and Collins had at their call several
volunteer organisers on a roving commission to ginger up activities. The most
P™'" em °J lheSC WaS 5630 MacBr,de > a son of the executed 1916 leader- Ernie
O Malley who wrote a good book on the struggle. On Another Man s Wound; Sean
MacMahon later Chief of Staff of the Slate Army; Sean Kavanagh, later Prison
Governor of Mountjoy; and Paddy Colgan from Mavnooth, Co. Kildare All of these
men had hair s-breath escapes and lived truly adventurous lives. The British issued from
the Castle a propaganda newspaper for the Tans. This used to say "Co. Kildare is ouiet”

aC ", V ! ,y ' n .G°- Mayo". On reading this Collins used to say: Send for Ernie
O Malley. MacBride or one of the others. Whoever was available was despatched
immediately to the quiet front and soon after things began to hum there. They often shot
it out with enemy parties and sometimes found it impossible to find lodgings, for anyone
lound harbouring them was liable to sudden death. Professor Hayes tells me that at the
height of the terror, only fifteen or twenty householders in Dublin were willing to hide
Mulcahy, Collins, or other wanted men. and that accounts for Mulcahy being nearly
caught in Hayes' house which was raided every other week. From The Spy in the Castle

8 The account differs from On Another Man’s Wound, but Sean MacBride confirms

9 Information from Connie Neenan.

10 Richard Mulcahy and Austin Stack along with Cathal Brugha and Michael
Collins were ministers and members of the Dail Cabinet, holding various portfolios.

11 See Appendix, p.411.

12 Arthur Griffith, Minister for Foreign Affairs, and Michael Collins. Minister for
rinance were joint leaders. Collins was a reluctant envoy. Robert Barton Minister for
Economic Affairs was also pressed into going. George Gavan Duffy, the envoy in Rome
and hamonn Duggan, both lawyers, went also. The secretaries were Erskine Childers
Honan Lynch, DiarmuidO Hegarty and John Chartres. (See notes on Chartres. Collins
and others in Appendix). Duggan’s signature was forged as he was absent but he signed
next morning.

13 Early in November Ernie O’Malley with Johnny Raleigh visited London to make
some arms purchases: / visited the Irish delegation in Hans Place, and Desmond
Fitzgerald, Minister for Publicityinvited us to lunch'. Champagne, wines and whiskey
were unstinted, but neither of us drank. I thought of my staff in Dinny Kelly's hut, running
breakfast and lunch together to economise. — The Singing Flame.

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SEAN MacBRIDE

O'Malley and Raleigh, who had ignored the instruction prohibiting Volunteer units
from purchasing arms outside their area, had come to London. Raleigh was a Limerick
carpenter w ho had offered his life savings, some £400, for the purchase of war material.
Every penny counted, and the two men took their meals with the delegates at Hans
Place. They pretended to be on holiday. When Collins, who was staying at Cadogan
Gardens called. O’Malley thought he was ill. Then he realised that he was drinking
heavily. There was a sense of moody unease everywhere — from Liam Mellows and The
Irish Revolution, by C. Desmond Greaves. Tony Woods told the author that Joe
McGrath who was in London for most of the period denied that there was any
extravagance. See also Appendix, p.400: The London Associates of Michael Collins.

14 Jones was well acquainted with Ireland and had been Professor of Economics in
Belfast. See Peace by Ordeal.

14a Churchill was an accomplice in the sinking of the Lusitania on 7th May 1915,
with a loss of 1,200 (by withdrawing naval escort) in order to lure U.S. into war (S.
Times, 15th Aug. 1982).

15 This anecdote is told somewhat differently in Rex Taylor’s Michael Collins.

16 Diarmuid Mac Giolla Phadraig told me two stories in similar vein. On entering
No. 10. Downing Street, Collins saw a Lee Enfield rifle casually sitting close to the inner
pair of doors in the hallway. As Mac Giolla Phadraig put it. a Lee Enfield is not usually
left sitting in a Prime Minister’s hallway; it was left there to allow Collins make a show of
himself. Collins grabbed it. planted it to his shoulder and went through all the motions,
to the hearty enjoyment of those present.

On another occasion during a break in conference. Collins indulged in some boasting.
You had £10.000 on my head he said to Churchill; the Boers had only £250 on yours.
There was no particular price on Collins’ head; the highest at that time was £ 1,000 on the
head of Dan Breen.

17 Reginald Dunne and Joseph O’Sullivan, the two Volunteers who shot Wilson,
were former soldiers in the British Army; O’Sullivan having lost a leg at Yprcs. They
lived with their parents in London. It was the inability of O’Sullivan to run that
prevented their escape. Dunne would not leave him. Both were hanged. Arthur Griffith
immediately condemned it as an “anarchic” deed. De Valera was more circumspect: /
do not know who shot Sir Henry Wilson, or why they shot him. but it is characteristic of
our hypocritical civilisation that it is only when the victim is in the seats of the mighty .. we
are expected to cry out and express our horror and condemnation. General Macready,
G.O.C. Ireland, was summoned to Downing Street. He had no evidence he said to
connect the crime with De Valera or Rory O’Connor. Nonetheless, the Cabinet
considered an immediate attack upon the Four Courts. He managed to dissuade the
British from this course, making the obvious point that it would throw the pro-Treaty
forces into an immediate alliance with the Republicans. The next day (23rd June),
Arthur Griffith with General Emmet Dalton attended a British Military conference in
the Phoenix Park. Plans were laid there for the attack upon the Four Courts five days
later.

18 Hungry with anti-Irish fury, as William O’Brien, MP.. described the debate,
Churchill in a stirring speech spelled out the issue for Arthur Griffith: The time has come
when it is not unfair . premature, or impatient of us to make... a request in express terms,
that this sort of thing must come to an end . If it does not come to an end. . . then it is mv
duty to say . . . that we shall regard the Treaty as having been formally violated . . . and
that we shall resume full liberty of action in any direction that may seem proper. The
pressure was being put upon the right man. In the unlikely event of the Treaty being
repudiated the political world of Griffith would have fallen apart.

19 It was unpleasant to sit at a cabinet table and to have to decide who was to be shot.
Ernest Blythe in Ardee in January, 1927.

SEAN MacBRIDE

133

20 The difficulties of defending the Four Courts are detailed in O’Malley’s Singing
Flame.

^ . ^he °*hers were Paddy O Brien O.C. who escaped with an ambulance party. Joe
Griffin, Director of Intelligence, and later a prominent industrialist. Paddy Rigney and
Sean Lemass.

22 For the record seventy-seven in all were executed, but many more perished in
unofficial killings.

23 See Peadar O'Donnell's account.

24 Col. Hugo MacNeill, nephew of Eoin, was officer in charge. Col. Hugh Gunn
from Belfast, a former friend of McKelvey, was present. The four were in line with
twenty marksmen fronting them, ten standing, ten on one knee. Most fire concentrated
on O’Connor, who died instantly, but whose clothing burst into flames causing hysteria
among some troops. As he lay there McKelvey called, shoot me: MacNeill bent forward
shot him in the chest and head.

25 The account on which this was based was published in An Phoblacht, December
7th. 1929.

26 Senator Bill Quirke was a Republican leader active in the Civil War until the end.
He was present at the meeting called to decide on a cease-fire in Co. Tipperary, on 20th
April. 1923.

27 Two Special Branch men were killed in a raid on an I. R. A. headquarters house in
August. 1941.

28 The I R A. in effect held three Conventions in the first half of 1922. The first
(banned by Griffith but held in the Mansion House) was on March 26th. 223 delegates
removed control of the Army from the Dail to their own executive of sixteen.

On April 9th, the Convention met again. Feeling was strong against the Treatyites.
Cathal Brugha. foreseeing the Collins/De Valera election pact, calmed the delegates
An executive of sixteen was elected. Liam Lynch. Liam Mellows, Rory O’Connor Joe
McKelvey, Eaman O’Malley. Sean Moylan, Frank Barrett, Michael Kilroy, Liam
Deasy. Peadar O’Donnell, P. J. Ruttledge. Seamus Robinson, Jos. O’Connor Sean
O Hegarty, Florence O’Donoghue and Tom Hales. The last three Corkmen resigned
later and were replaced before June 28th by Tom Barry, Pax Whelan and Tom Derrig. In
the meantime members of the Army Council, and the Dail were engaged in involved
negotiations with the pro-Treaty party. These ended satisfactorily with the announce¬
ment on 18th May of a coalition election. See Greaves Liam Mellows.

1 he third C onvention held on June 18th, verged dangerously on farce. They now had
the result of the abortive Pact Election before them, the Pact broken in Cork by Collins
following a demand from Churchill. For the Republicans there were 36 seats; for Griffith
there were 58. The delegates squabbled openly. It must have greatly encouraged the
Ireatyitcs to attack the Four Courts and at one fell swoop isolate the dissidents.

T* ,Jhe P ro Posal was that there would bean Army Council consisting of R. Mulcahv
Eoin () Duffy. Gearoid O’Sullivan. Liam Lynch. Scan Moylan. Rory O’Connor Liam
Mellows and Florence O’Donoghue. The C/S to be O’Duffy. Deputy C/S Lynch,
Deputy Training Liam Deasy, Adj. General O'Donoghue, QM Sean MacMahon and
D/Intclligence O’Sullivan.

30 Peadar Breslin of Dublin was later Quartermaster in the besieged Four Courts
He was shot dead by a soldier after an escape attempt from C Wing. Mountiov on the
10th October, 1922. 1

134

Pax

6 Faolain

Pax Whelan

Brigadier General I.R.A.

My mother. Brigid Carey, was from Ring. She was a native Irish
speaker. So also was my father; both were Irish speakers. He was a
good fiddler and musician. There was hardly a traditional song or air
that he did not have. As well as that he was a leader in the local
orchestra. My brother-in-law, Maurice Fraher. was the first boarder to
enter St. Enda’s. My wife attended the girls’ school, St. Ita’s. They
were both at that time in Oakley Road, in Cullenswood House(l)
which is still there. Collins used that house as a H.Q. among the many
he had. I was there later with Liam Tobin. A great generation of
people went through those schools, the P. T. McGinleys, the Bulfins
and many more.

I was born in 1893 in Dungarvan. My mother died when I was six.
My father at that time was largely an invalid with arthritis. We were not
well off. The struggle to live and to get enough to eat dominated us.
The Irish-Ireland side of things scarcely entered it at all. I first became
aware of the national position through reading Sinn Fein, the weekly
newspaper, which came in here. That was around 1910. There was
nothing very radical about the paper, but it tended to put you against
the Irish Party and the whole idea of the English Parliamentary system.
That showed up here when there was a bye-election in 1911, and an
independent candidate went forward. He ran the Redmondite very
close. It was on local issues that that contest evolved, but there always
has been an element of opposition to Parliamentarianism around
Dungarvan. After all Daniel O’Connell came here and spoke from
scaffolding around the parish church. He did not get a good reception;
ever afterwards he referred to the town as the piss-pot of Ireland. In
1848. after the abortive rising at Ballingarry. the West Waterford men
decided to come out the following year. There were strong forces then,
of what in future years you would have called Fenians, at Carrick,
Clonmel and Dungarvan. They attacked the town of Cappoquin in

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1849. It was to be the signal for an all-out rising. There was a man by
the name of Donohue killed. (As a result Cappoquin was heavily
garrisoned afterwards by military. The nuns established the Mercy
Convent there to keep the girls away from them.) They were very
strong here. The fellows from here joined them. They had their
headquarters at the old Market House. Until recent years, some of
their slogans were still preserved inside on the walls.

Later we had the Fenian landing, when the American vessel
purchased by John O’Mahony arrived in May — after a brief heave-to
in Sligo Bay — with forty officers aboard to help in a rising that never
got started. They came in off Helvick. She was commanded by a
Captain Kavanagh, a brave and intrepid sailor, and carried a large
cargo of rifles. Thirty of the officers remained in Ireland — two of them
Augustine E. Costello and John Warren were later caught and
sentenced to fifteen years penal servitude — but the rifles went back.
A namesake of mine, Pat Whelan, took them off that time in his fishing
boat. So we did have the tradition of local history to look back upon,
and no doubt it influenced us in many ways.

Three All Ireland finals were played at the beginning of this century
in Dungarvan, in what became known as Dan FraheTs field. Dan
Fraher, because of his broad Irish connections, was sought out by
Padraic Pearse. It was for that reason that a friendship developed
between them, and that his son, Maurice, was sent as the first boarder
to Pearse’s school. That friendship continued after 1916. For several
years after that, Mrs. Pearse and Margaret came to Dungarvan, and
stayed at the home of Dan Fraher and his family. His daughter, my
future wife, was there with them. They used to stay about a month,
being frequently driven around the countryside in a pony and trap by
Dan. When we went to Dublin for an All Ireland around the mid¬
twenties, Donal, myself and my other brother would stay at St. Enda’s.
Dan Fraher arranged a number of inter-county matches here to help
them out. They were in very straitened circumstances and needed it.

I hat field eventually passed down to my sons; they made it over to the
G.A.A.

I joined the Volunteers very shortly after they were founded in
November 1913. Roger Casement came to the town — or it may have
been The O'Rahilly — for the purpose of starting them off. There were
three companies here in a short time. We played hurling or football in
the field; then parade drill would start, and we would all turn out for
that. That remained the position until the split a year later on the issue
of the Great War. We agreed to differ here, no hard feelings; we got
holding on to the guns, ten or twelve single-shot Martinis. As there
were not a lot of us here, most of them were sent to Waterford, keeping
just two ourselves.

136

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Cat and Mouse

With the approach of Easter Week, the man in charge of us here,
was P. C. O’Mahony. He was later a secretary of Kerry Co. Council.
He was an official in the post office. As there were few of us, our
instructions, in the event of mobilisation, were to join the Waterford
City men. There was also some question of a link-up with South
Tipperary. There was an undersea cable going out from Waterford,
which was to be cut, but I don’t know much about that. The
countermanding order from MacNeill reached O’Mahony. We were
informed that the manoeuvres were off. A note arrived from Harry
Boland to Dan Fraher confirming this. He went to Dublin to the
annual G. A. A. Congress on the Saturday, which is probably where he
got the message from Boland. Then on Tuesday we received a message
from O'Mahony: There is a Rising in Dublin, and they are out in Cork.
That was enough for us. We had word that there was a train-load of war
material destined for Cork from Waterford, passing through about
midnight. We had a couple of revolvers, and, with George Lennon. I
went out and blocked the line. The train was held up. However it was
the ordinary goods train; there was nothing in it. We just disappeared.
There was no commotion fortunately, and no one was arrested.
Mellows came here shortly after that. He used to refer to it later on
when we were at Helvick together on the gun-running. He gave me
glasses and a prismatic compass then which I still have.

As soon as the releases took place after the Rising, re-organisa¬
tion recommenced. Groups became companies, companies became
battalions, and battalions became brigades. They were all subject to
control from headquarters in Dublin. Every one of us was subscribing
to buy a rifle. In 1917 I was arrested for taking a rifle from a soldier. I
walked into his house and removed it. At that time they were allowed
to take them home, but with the increasing tension in the country, that
soon ended. Anyway myself and another chap were remanded to the
jail in Waterford. We were conveyed back and forth from there to
court appearances here. Eventually we were released as they were
unable to prove anything against us.

The next thing, I was arrested for drilling and imprisoned in Belfast,
Crumlin Road. The Acting Governor there happened to be a neigh¬
bour of us here and a great friend of my father. I was still there when
Austin Stack was imprisoned and directed a great fight for political
treatment. We wrecked the jail in the struggle that followed.

COLLINS: BRUGHA

I was scarcely back here when I was pulled in again. I was not on the
run. Everyone tried to stay off the run for as long as they could, that
was up to 1920. We had started attacking police barracks here then,
hoping to freeze them out. As a result of this policy, the smaller ones

PAX 6 FAOLA1N

137

were evacuated and the police retired to the higher ones. Stradbally
was attacked, Ardmore twice, Ballinamoult, Kilmanahan and others
We kept up these tactics until they withdrew from them. I knew Mick
C oHins well for many years. We actually slept in the same bed together
in Dublin on a few occasions. That would be when we were called
together on tactical meetings. A strong friendship developed I knew
equally well his staff, Joe O’Reilly, Paddy Daly, Joe Leonard, Ben
Barrett, Sean Doyle, Tom Keogh, Vince Byrne, Liam Tobin, Frank
Thornton and Tom Cullen, the Squad, as they were called. We used
knock around together. They all stayed with Collins after the Treaty,
but they must have been disappointed men as some of them became
the Mutineers of 1924. I still have the pamphlet issued by Tobin at that
time.

I knew also at that time. Gearoid O’Sullivan, Rory O’Connor,
Diarmuid O Hegarty. Mellows, MacMahon the Quartermaster,
terribly well. Our particular friend was George Plunkett; he was here a
lot. He came First in 1917 to help re-organise Sinn Fein and stayed a
long time. Harry Boland, I knew very well also; he came here.

In attendance at these Dublin meetings were, apart from
MacSwiney, Liam Lynch, Rory and many more. I remember one such
meeting held in the offices of the Typographical Society. It must have
been very early in the struggle because they were seriously discussing
the chivalry of shooting at soldiers and police. Some thought we should
warn them that we would fire on them, and ridiculous things like that.

Cathal Brugha I knew already as he used to come here on business
He was very hard to get on with as he was very strait-laced and not a
very sociable kind of a man. He listened to every sort of complaint that
was made about us, by people whose houses we entered in our constant
search for weapons. His sincerity, of course, was beyond doubt. He
was the elected member for Waterford. His selection for the
constituency took place in a strange way. There could be only one
candidate — it being the “straight” system of election — for Waterford
City, and one for the county. There was the usual straining for
selection here by some locals anxious to get on the bandwagon. Now at
this time also we were doing top secret work trying to contact
submarines off Stradbally, which is just about eight miles east of
Dungarvan. I would be out there in a boat on certain nights that were
told to me beforehand. We did this three nights a month all that
summer, two of us in a boat, and one a look-out on the headland. It was
impressed on me that it was top secret; therefore I confided it to two
parties of three counting myself. Nothing ever came of this, and I
doubt if anything could, since it would be highly dangerous for a
submarine to try to make contact in a way like that. On this night,
however, that I was making my way to Stradbally, with the two lads to
go out again, 1 was carrying another message from Collins. / won't
open this now, I said to myself, until I get down. With a flashlight

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beneath the shade of the boat, I read it. It gave me three more dates,
then it added: / have the right man for your election. It is Cathal
Brugha. He was wounded severely in 1916.

I had never heard of Cathal Brugha. When I came into the town in
the morning, I met some of our politicians. We have a great candidate, a
1916 man , I said. They had never heard of him either. Some of them
that had supported local men for the selection were disappointed, but
when they heard he was a 1916 man, that he carried a few British
bullets in him, and when they had read a bit about him, they were
happy enough. They all rallied around, and he was elected that
December.

Harry Boland was a tailor’s cutter, a fine fellow. Early on my
father-in-law helped to set him up in business in Middle Abbey Street,
Dublin, where he had a tailoring shop. His younger brother, Gerry,
was not the same class at all. He was in this house on the day of the
Howth gun-running so I was pleased to see later that he did not claim to
be there.

In 1919 I was deported from here under martial law, to a place
known as Wormwood Scrubs. We all went on hunger-strike in protest.
Their policy at that time was to release men as they became weak.
Under the ‘Cat and Mouse Act* they felt they could always pick them
up again. I was twenty-one days on strike before I was released. The
struggle gradually commenced here in 1920, as it did everywhere else.
We had about half a dozen good actions during it as well as all the
general harassment of trenching roads and blowing bridges, in other
words, confining them to the towns and strong points. One of the first
big actions was the ambush at Piltown, late in 1920, where we captured
a lorry-load of soldiers complete with twenty rifles. Mills bombs and
ammunition. There was an action then at Tramore, not so good for us,
but it was good enough. There was a long engagement at Durrow
station which lasted nearly the whole day. We had another fight at
Ballyvoyle in which Liam Lynch was nearly involved. He happened to
be here making an inspection just as the fight started. We had another
in March 1921 at the Burgery. It started about midnight on the
nineteenth, and finished the next morning about nine o’clock. Collins
was very annoyed with me over that. We captured most of the British
party including the captain in charge and a policeman. We let them all
go except the policeman, whom we shot. You bloody fool, Collins said
to me afterwards in Dublin; You should not have let them go. You are a
disgrace to the movement. Don 7 blame me , I said. It was the decision of
George Plunkett , who happened to be in Dungarvan on an H.Q.
inspection, and took part in the engagement. Everyone knew George
was very humane. (We were hoping Charlie Daly would be on the
inspection, as George was very punctilious, always insisting that every
rank in the company be tilled, on paper anyway, and of course we did
not have the officers for all the various places).

PAX 6 faolAin

139

There were several other minor engagements at Rockfield, at the
Pike and other places. All the time we were concerned with the general
question of law and order. You had to supply the personnel for
Republican courts, maintain our own police force, deal with robbery
and petty crime. We had to settle land squabbles where small tenants
were trying to grab land that did not belong to them. The great thing
about all this was that it was done at practically no cost. The country
never had law and order at such a cheap rate before. Even at election
time — and there was one in 1918, two in 1920 and one in 1921 — we
had to provide the workers and the protection. There was no let-up;
you never got a rest.

I got married at the end of 1920. It was at the height of things but we
did not care. Michael Collins knew Cait Fraher well. He used to say to
me: Are you never going to marry that girl? I answered him seriously:
How can I do that in the middle of a war? Sure it might go on for years.
Collins agreed gloomily that indeed it might, but cheered himself up
with some more banter.

On another occasion I was at a H.Q. meeting in a house on the quays
about February, 1921. All the top people were there, Mick; Liam
Mellows, who was Director of Purchases; Cathal Brugha, Minister for
Defence; Rory O’Connor; Sean MacMahon, Q.M.G.; Liam Lynch
and some more. There was a boat due to come from Genoa with sixty
tons of arms.(2) They were discussing whether to bring it in to
Stradbally or to somewhere in West Cork. I strongly advocated that
they come here. I pointed out to Liam Lynch that any landings around
the west coast were always failures. Once you round Lands End, if you
make a straight line across, you strike Waterford. You have a good
chance of avoiding the naval patrols which do not enter close to the
Waterford coast. Loop Head and Mine Head tend to keep the patrols
well out. I was arguing so, and I found Collins was not in agreement
with me. He was putting all sorts of obstacles in the way. What about
the military in Fermoy? What about the garrisons in Clonmel? I felt he
was not keen on the landing at all. Finally he knocked it on the head on
the argument that we might lose the boat. I did not care whether we
lost the boat as long as we got the arms. At that point, as the meeting
was breaking up, Cathal Brugha called me over with some of these
trifling complaints about how our fellows were behaving. Mellows was
waiting at the door. Now, said he. You see how difficult it is to persuade
those people. What is the use, I answered, going to Germany for a
handbag full of Parabellums when we could have a shipload. Then
Mick cut in, I see C harlie and yourself were in a bit of an argument. That
startled me, because it was the first time I heard his name, for which we
all had an instinctive reverence, spoken that way. Mick seemed to say
it in a derogatory way. I did not attach much importance to it then. I

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forgot about it, but it did occur to me afterwards that 1 was being
cultivated. The rift was beginning to appear. Did he think that I might
go with Cathal Brugha, rather than with himself? We left the meeting
together. Come and meet a few friends , said he. We went to a pub in
Parnell Street. It may have been Kirwans or Maurice Collins’ backing
on to Coles Lane, where he was to meet two warders from Mountjoy.
They had a message from Arthur Griffith(3) who was at that time in
jail. Collins was in conversation with them for some time, then we
departed together. (The reasons for an oppressor government
providing the services of a ‘friendly warder' to take messages to and fro
from a top leader — especially as in this case a moderate leader — are
obvious enough in the circumstances. No one knows to what extent
these jail messages from Griffith may have enabled the Under
Secretary, Cope, in Dublin Castle, to gauge the temperature among
the Sinn Fein leadership in the run up to the Truce.)

Anita Ahoy

We had planned to land arms here early in the summer of 1921,
before the Truce, by the Anita. Arrangements for the shipment were
make in Bremerhaven by Bob Briscoe and Sean MacBride. The Anita
was purchased there by one of them. The instructions about meeting
the vessel were brought here to me by MacBride. I remember them
well; they were typewritten. I was to have two boats off Helvick Head.
One was to carry the ordinary fishing light, and a lower light, in order
to be identified. The password was, Anita Ahoy! The answering call
was O'Donnell Abu!

We were waiting to go out when we got a message that it would not
be coming. It had been seized in Bremerhaven by the Allied Repara¬
tions Commission. The manifest stated sporting rifles. Instead they
had a cargo of guns. It was probably the result of British Intelligence,
with which this country always had to contend. Anyway the ship and its
cargo were seized, and they had to start all over again.

Charlie McGuinness, from Derry, was in charge of the boat. You
know he was an experienced ship’s officer with the North German
Lloyd, and later quite a bit of an explorer. He has written down an
account of his voyages in his autobiography Nomad , but it doesn’t tell
the quarter. Anyway, McGuinness, with some of his German seafaring
friends tried to fish out another boat. This was not easy. Finally they
had to be satisfied with a river tug, which was not at all suitable for the
seas round here. They also had the usual difficulty over money. It was
only because of the extremely low exchange value of the German mark
that they were able to do business at all. Eventually it was loaded up,
and they got going again. But that took us beyond the 11th July, the

PAX 6 FAOLAIN

141

day of the Truce, and although there was now a respite, it did not stop
the watching by the Admiralty. As a result, our negotiators over there
were questioned by Lloyd George and Churchill about it.(4)

The Frieda arrived here off Helvick on November 11th, 1921. There
was a fog at Helvick, so she moved down and up the Suir to
Checkpoint. I had been out in the boat off Helvick.(5) We came
ashore then and moved our lorries down to Checkpoint, where we
unloaded most of the cargo. It consisted principally of Peter the
Painters, Parabellums, rifles, all new, of course and ammunition.
There was a bit of a repair to be done which we got done on the spot.
We then moved it next morning to Boat Strand between here and
Tramore. In the meantime, McGuinness, who was in touch with
Mellows, had the idea of selling her. He went to Cork where he rooted
out a Captain Collins who was engaged in coaling and general harbour
working between Spike Island and Cobh. McGuinness and Collins
came back to inspect the boat and Collins paid for it. There was a bit of
a hullaballoo because they were both missing for a few days, and his
wife wondered where he had got to. That was not surprising, because
McGuinness was a hard man for the drink, and once he came ashore,
he usually buried himself in some tavern. The Frieda deal worked so
well that MacBride and McGuinness immediately decided they would
go back again, buy another boat and bring it over too, which they did
with the Hannah.

11 was a lovely schooner with an auxiliary motor. They loaded her up
with thirty barrels of cement as ballast, as the arms cargo would not be
enough to give it stability. All went well and we brought her in to
Ballynagaul, on 2nd April, 1922. That is the date in the lifeboat log,
because they had gone out to meet her, although she did not require
assistance. I still have the Customs receipt here, as the owner. It is
made out for the 4th April, because we did not notify them until the
arms were out of it, and we had nothing to declare but the cement. Her
cargo consisted of boxes and boxes of ammunition, rifles and
Parabellums. The rifles were very good because, although under the
Peace Treaty arrangements with Germany, they were only supposed
to manufacture sporting weapons, we found that these Mausers could
pierce the steel shutters of the barracks. Dick Barrett supervised the
unloading into two lorries. There was about six tons of arms in the
cargo. Dick was hard put to mind the unloading as some of the lads
were pocketing weapons for themselves. In the end, they were all sent
off to Sean Gaynor, O.C. of Tipperary No. 1 Brigade. They were
received there by Dan Gleeson and others, and they transferred them
in vans northwards. I cannot say if they stayed on this side of the
Border, but it seems likely they went on over. Which only goes to show
how none of us expected a conflict; we imported guns and we sent them
to the North. Had we been preparing for a civil war we would have held
them here. Not a gun remained with us here in the Second Southern.

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PAX 6 FAOLAIN

While our future enemy was being armed to the teeth by the British,
we were divesting ourselves of hard-needed weapons. I cannot say
what later became of the vessel, officially my property; it was seized by
the Free State.

Charlie McGuinness

But to return for a moment to McGuinness. He first came to our
notice when he escaped early on from the British in Derry. They were
holding him in the military barracks at Ebrington. He got clear away.
He returned then and rescued Frank Carty of Sligo from the same jail.
His father was a sea captain and he himself was an officer in the North
German Lloyd and he spoke German fluently. We had been trying to
get someone like that. We had tried one chap here, sending him across.
He went as far as Danzig and returned with a few Parabellums. That
was as much as G.H.Q. could get until they met McGuinness. When he
came here with the Frieda , he had already changed its name to the
Peter ; because there were so many Peter the Painters on board.

When the Civil War broke out, I lost trace of him. He was abroad
again. Sometime in 1925,1 received a letter from Charlie in New York
saying that he was settled down as a quiet married man. Would I send
him a photograph of Ballynagaul, Checkpoint and Dunabrattin. He
must have been writing his book at the time; I sent him the
photographs. The next thing, a couple of months after, I had another
letter: / am preparing an expedition going to the South Pole with
Captain Byrd . (That was the expedition that reached Antartica in
1928. It sailed in two ships, the 500 ton City of New York and the 8(X)
ton Eleanor Bolling,)! am going to the South Pole , the letter said. / am
second in command. / would be delighted if you and some of the lads
from Ballynagaul would come. I asked a couple of our lads around
here, whom McGuinness knew, would they go, but they would not.
They were all upset after the Civil War; we were all trying to drag
ourselves out of debt and back into civilian life again.

Some time after that, I was in the former Savoy Restaurant in
Dublin having a cup of tea. Bob Briscoe and Sean MacBride were at
another table. They hailed me. I crossed over to them. After some
chat, I mentioned Charlie. Any news of him? I said. Oh , said
MacBride; He is Harbour Master now in Leningrad. (6) And what of
the wife and children? said I. Oh you know McGuinness: never behind
the door where women are concerned , said MacBride. He probably
now has a Russian wife. Along with that he got a very high decoration
recently , the Order of Lenin or some such thing!

He came here again out of the blue, during World War II. He
captained an Irish boat, along with a local from here, Tom Donoghue,
dodging the U-boats and bringing in supplies. In March, 1942, he was

PAX 6 FAOLAIN

143

concerned in the plan to sail Gunther Schuetz(7) out of Bray, and
hopefully to bring back Frank Ryan. It was not a very sound idea, but
Stan McCool was Ghief of Staff at the timet one can see he would have
liked to bring Ryan home. McGuinness and his three-man crew of
local men were arrested before the Dingle fishing smack could set sail
It appears it was leaked out through the purchase of the boat, or as a
result of the arrest of a courier — the dining-car attendant — on the
Belfast/Dublin train. As a result of this involvement, he received a
long sentence from the Special Court which was served in Mountjoy.
but was released shortly after the war ended.

After that he operated a coasting schooner around here, though I
never ran into him again. Then on a journey from Wexford to Dublin,
in a sou easter gale, the boat and crew, including McGuinness, were
lost. Of course there are those who say he will turn up yet.

Civil War

I met Collins only once after the Treaty. I was spending a lot of time
' n Dublin now where there was a considerable amount of argument
going on among ourselves on the Republican side. This argument
centred upon the negotiations being carried on between Dick
Mulcahy, O'Duffy, Gearoid O’Sullivan and Sean MacMahon on the
Free State side with our men. Liam Lynch, Rory O’Connor, Eaman
O Malley and Sean Moylan, about control of the two armies, to see if
they could be merged in a single unit. There was also the private issue
of membership of our Army Executive, which had declared itself
independent of the Dail. After the Army Convention in April, 1922,1
was placed upon the sixteen-man Executive.(8) As a result of that, I
was spending a long time in Dublin where I did not want to be.

I met Collins shortly after May 20th when a Pact between our two
forces had been announced. He was as friendly as ever, although he
knew I was on the other side. You have a right pack of blackguards in
Dungarvan. They wanted to run me and my lorry over the quay. He was
referring to a bit of election boisterousness of a few days previous,
when some Republican lads tried to drive the lorry on which he was
speaking over the pier. He told me that he was setting up the Civic
Guards. Would I give him a hand? I could have a high place in it. No, I
said, in a friendly way, / must try to fix up this rift first. Whichever side
get the most arms is the side that will emerge top dog; but / don't want it
to come to that.

Naturally the whole idea of the Treaty was a complete shock to me. I
could not reconcile it with the men I knew who were now on the other
side. We found it hard to understand how a great Irish Irelander like
Richard Mulcahy could accept a treaty that gave away six of our

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counties and that allowed the exercise of only limited sovereignity over
the other twenty-six. I knew him well in those years. He came here to
learn Irish in Ring College. Many an evening he came here. We would
then cycle back the road together, and we would talk about everything.
He was very extreme in his support of things Irish. He was later Chief
of Staff, and sat in at many of the meetings I attended in Dublin. He
talked Irish, wore Irish-made suits and boots, and bought only Irish
whenever he could. All his letters carried halfpenny stamps only —
postage that time was a penny and a halfpenny. If you buy only
halfpenny stamps , he said, the British post office has less profit.
Naturally I wore as much Irish as I could, but I never inquired where
my shirt came from, as long as it was decent. Then there was Collins.
Men were carried away by the slogan: What's good enough for Mick
Collins , is good enough forme. But it was not the time for sloganising,
when the future of a whole nation was at stake.

After the Civil War broke out, and the pattern of the struggle on our
side defined itself as one of guerilla warfare, I did what I could to
maintain the organisation around here. We had three good columns of
around fifteen men each, which maintained their position right up to
the cease-fire. There was Jack O’Mara's column around the Nire
Valley, a very good crowd. There was Tom Keating's column on the
east side of the Comeraghs. He was killed a few days after Liam Lynch.
Finally there was Paddy Curran's column. They rescued one of their
wounded volunteers from an armed guard in the hospital. It might not
have gone well for him as he had been in the Free State Army and left
it. They took him out over a very high wall.

Their morale was good up to the end, but the trouble was that the
people were afraid or had been turned against them. They had no
clothes, they had nothing, they were outcasts. Clerical and Church
pressure was raised against them. That influenced the womenfolk,
except our own loyal followers. We had the situation here even where
the remains of the father of the local commandant, Mike Mansfield,
were refused admittance into the chapel. Men lost the will to resist in
the face of this. There was the case of Mrs. Holyroyd-Smith, who
resided that time in Ballinatray House, which is a very nicely placed
estate in the estuary of the Blackwater. We had done a turn for her in
the period before the Civil War in connection with a robbery that took
place at her house. She expressed gratitude for this. If I can do
anything for you , she said, please let me know. The Civil War was on
some months now, and the jails were crowded. Two Volunteers, Mike
Fitzgerald and Pat O'Reilly were arrested about October in
Clashmore. They were taken to Waterford where there were some
hundreds already, some of whom, like these lads, had been caught
with arms. We were told that their lives could be in danger. We went to

Late October 1920. The hearse bearing Terence MacSwiney leaves Southwark Cathedral

PAX 6 FAOLAIN

145

her; she was in the horsey set and we knew she was friendly with W. T.
Cosgrave. She travelled to Dublin and met Cosgrave. He told her he
could do nothing as the British Government was insisting on their
execution. They had taken part in an ambush in Youghal in 1921, when
the road was mined and a lorry containing mainly band-boys was
blown up. The British Government made much of this “atrocity” at
the time, laying out the coffins, photographing them, and even having
postcards made. But who was to know they were only band-boys that
were in the lorry? Anyway Fitzgerald and O'Reilly were shot by the
Staters in Waterford on January 25th, mainly for something that had
happened a year and a half earlier when they were all together.(8a)

I am of the opinion that there may have been pressure also from the
British Government to execute Tim Sullivan, Charlie Daly, John
Larkin and Dan Enright at Drumboe in Donegal. They had been
waging war in the Six Counties, now considered a part of the United
Kingdom and that could not be condoned. They were caught on the
Free State side and executed. They were among the last — though not
the last — to be executed.

I was arrested myself close to here early in December and conveyed
to Mountjoy. 1 arrived there a few days before the 8th of December.
The atmosphere then was a more sombre one than in the early days of
the Civil War. The Free Staters had been executing people since mid
November. They intended winning the struggle. There was going to be
no pussy-footing, though I must say we did not expect the reprisals
they embarked upon. Sure Hitler must have learned something from
them. You ask me how did they come to pick out McKelvey, Barrett,
O'Connor and Mellows for execution that December? I don't know.
Years afterwards I asked Paudeen O'Keeffe the Governor the same
question; Why did they pick those four? They were the leading people in
the jail, he said. And in case of further reprisals there was yourself and
Peadar O'Donnell and Ernie O'Malley. (9)

I was in Mountjoy for the next ten months with hundreds of other
Republicans, long after the war had finished, long after the cease-fire.
There was no sign of a let-up. All the pressures, clerical and lay, were
still upon us. So a number decided that they would go on hunger-
strike. I know the Army outside were very much against it, but these
prisoners decided they would. I was six weeks on it, even though 1
objected strongly to it. Still, once they started, you felt that if you did
not join in, you were letting them down. So I joined in. That was Ernie
O'Malley's reason too. I started in Mountjoy, and after some time, was
transferred to the Curragh. There were only fifteen or twenty of us,
because they had split us up between all their jails. Our group included
Jim Hurley, Ray Kennedy, Mick Wylie, Jimmy Kirwan and a few
more. After six weeks a Free State officer told us we were to give

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PAX 6 FAOLAIN

up the strike, our organisation had sent in word. We paid no attention
to this. 1 thought it was the usual prison dodge. Then in the middle of
the night, they sent in Tom Derrig( 10) and D. L. Robinson( 11) to tell
us it was “official”.

Alright, I said, but leave me here now, as / am the most experienced
hunger-striker here, I can help these other lads in their recovery. I had
been on hunger-strike in Wormwood Scrubs and other places. I knew
some fellows make mistakes when they come off, and get seriously ill.
But they would not leave me. They brought me to the Curragh
isolation hospital where I was with another small group which included
Sean MacSwiney and four or five more. 1 was there until I was released
about April, 1924.

Death of Liam Lynch

I want to tell you something now about the death of Liam Lynch,
Chief of Staff of the I.R. A. Some of his last days and nights were spent
in a place called Katmandu. It was an ordinary long cow-house, with a
galvanised end on it, on Whelan’s farm near Mullinahone. It was
destined to be the last Republican headquarters of the Civil War.
Inside you could move a bale of hay and lift up a galvanised sheet of a
false gable and you found yourself in a limited space, the last six feet of
the cow-house. It could hold six men on bunks inside. It was
constructed by Jim Bryan, who worked afterwards as a carpenter in
the creamery at Mullinahone.

When Florence O’Donoghue was writing No Other Law, he sought
my help to trace the last two weeks of Liam Lynch's life before he met
his death at Newcastle on the slope of Knockmealdown Mountain on
April l()th, 1923. I had heard in Mooncoin that he had stayed in
Murphy's of Mooncoin. Yes indeed he had. Martin McGrath of New
Ross and two other men accompanied him, one of whom evidently was
Tod Andrews. But this turned out to be a false trail, as these visits had
been made in January. What transpired was this. Lynch left
headquarters in Dublin in mid February and came south. It was dec¬
ided, despite the obvious dangers, to call the sixteen commandants
together for March 24th in the Nire Valley, west of the Comeraghs in
Waterford.(12) The meeting started in Bleantis, west of the Nire, at
Cullinan’s. Mick Mansfield, John Boyle and others took the parties to
shelter in various cottages in the valley. It was raining like hell. De
Valera had the outline of the sort of terms on which peace could be
made with the Treatyite forces. It was then that the framework of the
Fianna Fail party germinated; the suggestion being made by De Valera
that Republicans should work the Treaty politically.

Lynch would not accept this proposal on any account. He was more
determined now at the end of the war than at the beginning. He was
not convinced of military defeat. Frank Aiken, his Deputy Chief of

PAX 6 faolAin

147

Staff, however, sided with De Valera. In the absence of any
conditions. Stack favoured stopping the war, but not surrendering.
The peace resolution was defeated by six votes to five. Meanwhile the
meeting was adjourned until April l()th. when it was hoped that Sean
Hyde of Cork, who now commanded the West, and P. J. Ruttledge
could be present. Lynch and some of the party then departed north
over the mountain for Katmandu. Disasters were however overtaking
them on all sides. Derrig and Moss Twomey were arrested separately
in Dublin, and Derrig got a terrible hiding out of it. Stack was captured
on his way to the meeting at a place called Dyrick, while Liam Lynch
was mortally wounded that morning.(13) The news had got out that
Republican leaders were meeting in the Tipperary-Waterford area,
and the Free State Army was concentrated there in force.

Now we return to my investigations of a few years back after Florrie
O’Donoghue’s request. I met Mickey Cleary here in this town. He told
me to go to Mullinahone and meet Tom Bryan; that was the first I had
heard of him. Straight away I travelled to Mullinahone. Yes, he told
me, / had prepared the compartment in the cow-shed some months
before. He remembered them leaving it that morning. Lynch, Bill
Quirke, Sean Hayes and Sean Hyde. He had to fix the heel of Lynch’s
boot which was giving him trouble. They had been there about five
days resting. They had no rifles, although they had short arms. Lynch
had some books and papers. To keep them together, he produced a
leather strap and he then saw them off. They went down below here
and crossed the river. That would be about three days before he was
killed. They called to Kirwans of Graigavallagh. They then went over
the gap into the Nire and called at Parry Wards, after which they went
down the valley, crossed the main road, and went into Newcastle. He
stayed there in Liam Houlihans, on the side of the hill, within half a
mile of where he was shot the next morning. He was cut down as he
tried to flee across the open hillside.

At this time I was in Mountjoy. I was not present at those meetings. I
heard of what transpired and events leading up to them afterwards.

Home Again

Life was a struggle when I came home. You were trying to get a job.
to pay a load of old debts, to get going again. Yet everybody was
boycotting you. At least the people who could give you work — and I
am a plumber as you know — were boycotting you. Many of the lads
that had done the fighting were getting out. They were being frozen
out. were being forced to go. It was suggested to me by a clergyman
that I should emigrate. No, I said, / will stay here and see this thing out.
I had a young wife and a small family, but" I was going to stick it. The
few people I could get work from here were the Protestants; they did
not mind my politics. The Catholic middle-class for the most part.

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avoided me. I think my existence was a reminder of defeat. After ten
years my wife died, so I had to try to bring up the small family as well.

And though we part in sorrow.

Still Sean 6 Duibhir a chara.

Our prayer is: God save Ireland
And pour blessings on her name.

May her sons be true when needed.

May they never feel as we did.

For Sean 6 Duibhir a gleanna.

We're worsted in the game.

Still there was much to be done, politically, I mean. The mere fact of
defeat made it more necessary than ever that we stand together. I
resumed my contacts with MossTwomey, with the remnants, with the
old guard. One of the stories I have to tell concerns some funds we had
here. The former quartermaster had joined the Free State. He knew
there was some money in the bank — lodged in my name — belonging
to the Brigade. He told his new masters and they froze it. In 1932, Sean
MacBride arrived here to tell me that the order under which it was held
had expired. He set to work, although he was only a law student at the
time. Along with Michael Comyn, S.C., we took an action in the High
Court against the Government, De Valera's government, for recovery
of the funds. We won. We recovered nearly £20,(KX). I handed it
straight over to the Movement, and that, I hope, put it over a very
difficult phase, when there was not much money about. You had the
great depression in America at that time; all our fellows were on the
rocks. For that reason, as I say, it was particularly welcome to the
Movement. We were poor then ourselves; I had not a bob, but I paid
my own way up and down from Dublin for the court hearing. I would
not take a cent from them. Alright , said Moss, well give you a receipt
so. There and then Moss had one typed out, while Sean MacBride sent
me a letter of thanks.

Looking back now, who are the other personalities that stand out in
my memory? One that I thought was outstanding was Paddy McGrath
of Dublin, who was executed in September, 1941. I first got to know
him on the tunnel in Mountjoy in the autumn of 1923. We were great
friends. He was a most ingenious fellow, extremely clever with his
hand. He had only one, but it was extraordinary what he could do with
it. He showed that at that time by his ability to open locks and remove
covers, which enabled us to enter the roof-space in Mountjoy.(14) He
was extremely plucky and courageous.

Sean Russell I knew well too. If the truth must be told, I would have
to compare him with Cathal Brugha, very sincere, but not so easy to
get on with. You would not open up to him readily, nor he to you. Tom
Barry, in everybody’s mind he presented the popular picture of an

PAX 6 FAOLAIN

149

I.R.A. man. He was a great soldier in every way, but then again, he
had the advantage of experience, which none of us had, and which we
were only gaining in action. He could take a dozen lads and make
soldiers of them. He was a tradesman, and that was his trade. As well
as that he had a damned good head. In recent times, with some people
falling over backwards to be pro-British, Tom came out with some
sound pronouncements, and notice was taken of them because of who
said them.

Of course there were a number of other Tom Barrys, who were
rather overshadowed by him. There was the O.C. of the Eastern
Division, from Glanworth. I remember going down to meet him with
Maire Comerford, a sound man he was too.

I want to pay a special tribute to George Plant, who was executed in
March, 1942, in Portlaoise, and a man for whom I had a very high
respect. He was a sound judge of character. I recall the time when I
sent a certain man to him, a man whom I thought reliable. Later
George said to me: Who is he? Well, don’t trust him. He was right, too,
although this chap was a stranger to him, yet well known to me. He was
executed for the alleged shooting of an informer, who, of course, in
view of the murky Stephen Hayes/de Lacey affair, may not have been
an informer. But the authorities of that time, De Valera and Gerald
Boland, were determined to get Plant. When the case against him
collapsed because the two men. Davem and Walsh, with him.
withdrew their statements, he was put on trial again before the Special
Military Court. That court of Army officers, could only bring in one
sentence, namely acquittal or death. To make assurance doubly sure,
they issued an Emergency Powers Order (Order 139) which allowed
them to read statements by others, statements allegedly made to the
police.(15)

No one would believe, to read the Plant story now, that it could
happen. Nor would anyone believe the story of the churchmen here
who refused to admit the remains of an old man because his son was
still fighting in the Civil War with the I.R.A. But of course that
happened, and I am sure it is not only in Waterford that it happened.

REFERENCES

1 It is now part of the Irish-speaking Scoil Brighdc, founded and originally
established in Earlsfort Terrace by Miss Gavan Duffy.

2 See Chap. 12 Liam Mellows and The Irish Revolution, by Desmond Greaves.

3 He was arrested in November, 1920, and released to take part in the Treaty
negotiations in July, 1921.

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PAX 6 FAOLAIN

4 Griffith’s reply to all such complaints was similar to that he made on October 21st.
my conception is that the Truce does not mean that your military forces should prepare
during the period of the Truce for the end of it and that we should not. Peace by Ordeal.

5 Gun running by McGuinness is covered in detail in Chap. 13 of Liam Mellows and
The Irish Revolution by Desmond Greaves. (See also Appendix, p.411). His
autobiography Nomad: Sailor of Fortune does not do justice to an extraordinary man.
J. Anthony Gaughan in the Irish Times of 8th April, 1980, records that Frank Fitz¬
gerald, brother of Desmond and uncle of Garret, was asked by a Free State Committee
of Accounts in 1925 to explain the whereabouts of sums totalling £20,000 entrusted to
him for gun purchases in the pre-Treaty and post-Treaty period. The Auditor General
stated that a considerable sum had not been accounted for.

6 Most unlikely, although he did obtain some appointment from the Soviet.

7 The l.R.A. by Tim Pat Coogan: Spies in Ireland by Enno Stephan. The Secret
Army by J. Bowyer Bell Schuetz had spent a while in Mountjoy before escaping where
he was known as Hans Marschmer.

8 Liam Lynch, C.S.; Joe McKelvey, Deputy; Florence O’Donoghue, A.G.;Eaman
O’Malley. Director of Organisation: Joseph Griffin, Director of Intelligence; Liam
Mellows. Q.M.; Rory O’Connor. Director of Engineering: Seamus O’Donovan.
Director of Chemicals: Scan Russell, Director of Munitions; Sean Moylan; Frank
Barrett: Michael Kilroy; Liam Deasy; Peadar O’Donnell; P. J. Ruttledge; Seamus
Robinson; Joseph O'Connor; Tom Barry; Pax Whelan and Tom Derrig.

8a On 31st May 1921, the band of the Hampshires was having a company marching
to the camp outside Youghal. An l.R.A. mine killed two corporals, two bandsmen and
two bandboys. It was the bandboys that the English newspapers photographed.

9 Tom Barry would have been added only he had already escaped.

10 Adjutant General l.R.A. at time of his arrest in March. 1923. and later Fianna
Fdil Minister for Education in the thirties and forties. He was blinded in one eye by a
shot fired across his face when trying to escape in Fenian Street, Dublin, from Free State
G. men bringing him into Oriel House in March 1923.

11 David Robinson, friend of Robert Barton, and British officer in World War One.

12 Present at the four-day conference were: De Valera: Liam Lynch; Bill Ouirke;
Tom Derrig; Austin Stack: Sean Dowling; Frank Aiken; Tom Barry; Humphrey
Murphy; Sean MacSwiney; Tom Crofts. There are photographs and much interesting
detail in The Comeraghs, Refuge of Rebels, by Se<in and Sfle Murphy, printed by Ken¬
nedy Print of Clonmel.

13 On the day following the date arranged for this second and possibly, final
meeting, six more Volunteers were executed in Tuam.

14 The tunnel is described in the account of Sean MacBridt.

15 These statements were admissable whether the persons said to have made them
were alive or dead. Nor was the court bound by the rules of evidence, or seemingly by
any other rules.

151

Eithne

Coyle

(Mrs. Eithne O’Donnell),
President Cumann na mBan

Eithne Ni CumhaUI was born in 1897 at Kiliuit near Falcarragh, Co.
Donegal. My father was Charles; he died at the age of thirty six,
leaving my mother Mary, with seven of us to rear as best she could.
Only one of us, my sister, emigrated, which 1 suppose is unusual for
such a relatively large family. My mother, whose maiden name was
McHugh, was a good manager; she built up our small farm, and added
more land to it. In that way we were all kept busy.

I was the youngest in the family, and because I grew up at the time
the Movement came to full flower, it may explain how I came to be
connected with it. although I was not the only one in our family who
was so identified. My brother Donal who was a Commandant in the
First Northern Division, was also in it. He spent some time in
Mountjoy, before the Truce, and was involved in a big prison fight
there, when he got badly beaten up and had his nose broken. Charlie
Daly, from Kerry, was one of his closest friends. He was eventually
tracked down by the Free State and imprisoned in the Curragh, where
they held him until mid 1924.

My mother was a great old Republican; she encouraged us in every
way; she taught us our history, all the time preaching freedom and
independence from England. When Donal and myself were arrested
by the Staters she felt terribly alone. They used to raid her week after
week, but she had a great dog; it used to look after her like a Christian.

The flaming Sword

The news of the Easter Week Insurrection came to us in Donegal
like a flash of light; a flash that was short lived, but it drove us into the
organisations, that up to that time, scarcely existed in our part. The
Volunteers were organised for the first time. The threat of
Conscription came, and 1 remember well we all wrote our names down

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EITHNE COYLE

against it in the porch of our church. That would be April 1918, when
we signed the pledge. Leslie Price — Bean de Barra — came to our
part some time after that to organise the first Cumann na mBan in that
area. In later years I knew her and her three brothers Eamonn, Charlie
and Michael Price extremely well.

I came to look fora job in Dublin early in 1920. It was then that I
became actively involved in things; having a flat in Cullenswood
House, in Oakley Road — Pearse’s old place — it would be impossible
not to become involved. I lived there with my sister, Mrs. Pearse and
Margaret. They were poorly off at that time. Our circle included
Florrie McCarthy, Sheila Humphreys, Maire Comerford, Fiona
Plunkett and Phyllis Ryan, later Mrs. Sean T. O'Kelly. Our
headquarters at that time was in Dawson Street. The White Cross had
an office next to us, which was very handy, because they were always in
and out to us. Mrs. Eamonn Ceannt and Dan Breen’s sister-in-law.
Miss Malone were in charge of it. Our main work was to act as couriers
and to carry arms, going all over the place on our bicycles. This we
could easily do; the fashions were long at that time and police checks
were not very frequent upon girls.

I was eventually arrested by the Tans at a place called Ballagh, in
Co. Roscommon, where I had a little house to myself. They came first
and they raided, and I said, thanks be to God, they’re evidently not
going to arrest me. I was not as careful as I should have been; I should
have made off there and then, because they came again the next
morning at 4 a.m., and this time they held me. I was brought into a
barracks in Roscommon. I shall never forget how cold it was. It was the
first of January, 1921, and their method of cleaning out the cell was to
take buckets of freezing water in and swill them around the floor. It
was then swept out with a yard-brush. Was I glad when eventually I
was sent on to Mountjoy where I was charged before a field-general
courtmartial. It was presided over by three military officers. They
sentenced me to one year’s imprisonment for activities prejudicial to
the Defence of the Realm. They had got no arms nor documents upon
me; I took very good care of that, but they knew I had been working
with the Volunteers. I had been in Roscommon ostensibly organising
for the Gaelic League, and as all the Volunteers were interested in the
language it was a good cover. I had been there for six months,
seconded from Dublin. Our O.C. was Pat Madden. They were a good
Republican family, and all of them remained anti-Treaty afterwards.
There was a small unit of Cumann na mBan there, and of course I was
in it, as was Pat’s sister. He often came by my cottage, and would leave
in a gun or two if he was going someplace where he felt he ought not
bring them. I suppose I was under the microscope of the R.I.C., being
a stranger and hooking around everywhere on my bicycle. I used carry

E1THNE COYLE

153

despatches into Roscommon town or north to Athleague. I had plenty
of narrow shaves. Travelling at night you had to have a lamp. In that
way they could nab you easily as they might be on foot patrol. But if
you heard the lorry you could stop and throw the bicycle over the ditch.
They charged me with possession of innocent Cumann na mBan docu¬
ments and with having a plan of a barracks. But that was not got on me;
it was found in someone else’s posession.

It was fairly tough that time in the ’Joy, with only four hours of
exercise, and a lock up at half past four. We had no light in our cell in
the short evenings, and when summer came, it was the most glorious
summer, it was such a shame to have to go inside. There were about
twenty-five of us there then, including Eileen McGrane — she had
been doing work for Collins — and some girls from the south of
Ireland. The food was very bad; a tiny piece of meat twice a week, and
for the rest of the time a thin soup. They came to your door
accompanied by one of the ordinary female prisoners carrying these
rusty two-tier tin cans that never seemed quite clean, with the small
one sitting on top. in which was your tea, soup, cocoa or whatever was
being served. A sour bap and a piece of margarine was placed in the
upper one. You took it from the door, placed it upon a little table, and
sat before it perched upon a timber stool. If you were lucky you got a
few of your own books in; otherwise you had nothing to read but the
Bible, there being one of those and a tract or two in every cell.

The prison system — and the one that still prevails — exemplifies
perfectly the doubtful virtues of English puritanism. There was a
division between us and the ordinary prisoners; they were in another
wing. We saw them only when they came accompanied by a female
warder to serve us, or in chapel on Sunday, but even there we were
separated from them. At first there was no proper light in the cell; it
was a gaslight placed upon the outside with a small glass panel
admitting some light. We made a protest, and after some argument,
the light was brought into our cells.

The numbers in jail built up to around 40 women and girls, some of
them as young as fifteen. Although the Truce was now on for four
months we had not been released. Only the most important people,
TD’s and others like Griffith and Barton, who might take part in the
talks, were released, and of course people under sentence of death,
like Sean McKeon. had these sentences deferred.(1) We were fed up
anyway, and although I had only a few months to go, I never ceased
looking for a means to escape. It presented itself eventually when one
of the wardresses with whom I was friendly, a girl called Dillon from
the West, agreed to take out a message to the Volunteers. With her
assistance false keys for the cell doors were made. It was arranged that
a rope-ladder would come over the wall at 9 p.m. on the Halloween

154

EITHNE COYLE

night. Extra drink was left out for the soldiers that night. At a few
minutes before the time a number of us crept from our cells and out
into the yard. Precisely at nine o’clock the ladder came sailing over. I
held it while the other three — Mary Burke, Linda Kearns and May
Keogh, she was Father Sweetman’s housekeeper — climbed it. Linda
was on a ten-year sentence and had had a rough time in Walton Jail in
Liverpool, so we sent her first. At the top they did not wait for the
ladder to be drawn up and sent down the outside. We only had minutes
before the military would appear. To save time each of them dropped
from the twenty-two foot wall, hanging on their fingers as far down as
they could go. When my turn came to climb up — having no one to
hold the ladder back — my knuckles took a rasping against the rough
wall, but I persevered, and dropped down upon the soil of somebody’s
garden. Cars awaited us on the North Circular Road. 1 was put in that
of Dr. McLaverty, and the other three got into the car of Dr. St. John
Gogarty.

I lay low for a week, after which I was sheltered at Madame
MacBride’s house at 73 St. Stephen’s Green. Countess Markievicz,
who had been in jail also, called in one day and gave me five pounds,
which of course I repaid later. But I shall always remember her
generosity.

Discord

We did not know what to think about the Truce. We were sure we
had not won anyway. All our eyes were glued upon the Plenipoten-
taries in London. I went home to Donegal about the end of November.
I remember going for the newspaper this day and reading the Treaty
proposals in it, throw your hat at that , said my mother, it is no
settlement.

As things developed in 1922, we could see that the Free State was
toeing the line for Britain. Nearly all of the girls stayed Republican,
but the men seemed to waver. I was still in Donegal when we heard
about the attack upon the Four Courts. It was a terrible shock. I had a
fit of weeping. Why should it have to end this way when we thought we
would clear the British out? I hurried back to Dublin and made contact
again with my friends.

One of my first tasks was to bring a despatch from Dublin to Liam
Pilkington in Sligo. He had been Commandant of the 3rd Western
Division in the Tan struggle. 1 went down by train, and brought my
bicycle with me. Do you think I could find Pilkington? I had no clue
and no address, and I was afraid to ask anybody. This day I went into a
small country pub and general store. I sat down to sip a glass of
lemonade. 77/ sit here for a while , I thought, and work out what / should

EITHNE COYLE

155

do. While 1 rested there, a man at the counter asked the shopkeeper in
a low voice. Have you seen Billy? My heart leaped: could this be Billy
Pilkington? I waited until he had departed, and then, approaching the
counter cautiously, I spoke to the shopkeeper — showing him my
C umann na mBan brooch at the same time — By any chance were you
talking about Billy Pilkington?

He directed me where to find him and I delivered my message safely.
But that was the sort of G.H.Q. organisation we had then; we would
send a woman from Dublin to Sligo, where 1 had never been before,
and with no hint or clue of where I might bring my message. I received
an answer to bring back, so, mounting my bicycle, I cycled
homewards. It was the end of another lovely summer. I remember
stopping at a river on the way, and I thought, what a beautiful spot.
How lovely it would be if Ireland were free and 1 could laze here
forever.

When apples still grow in November,

When blossoms still grow on each tree.

When leaves are still green in December,

It’s then that our land will be free.

I wandered the hills and valleys.

And still through my sorrow I see,

A land that has never known freedom,

And only her rivers run free.

I drink to the death of her manhood.

Those men who would rather have died.

Than to live in the cold chains of bondage.

To bring back their rights where denied.

Where are you now when we need you?

What bums where the flames used to be?

Have you gone like the snows of last winter?

And only her rivers run free.

But I could not linger; I had to hurry on. I cannot remember where I
stopped along the road home; it cannot have been anywhere grand
because money was too scarce for that.

I was arrested in Cullenswood House late in November, 1922.
The first girl arrested by the Staters was a very nice girl. Honor
Murphy; she lived in Wellington Road, in the house from which
Frank Gallagher produced the Bulletin. After it was raided the
Humphreys house in Ailesbury Road and the O’Rahilly house in
Herbert Park, were raided. That netted Mrs. Humphreys, Sheila and
Mary MacSwiney. I was caught some time after that.

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EITHNE COYLE

While we were in the 'Joy I heard some of the volleys, on the other
side of the wall, that were killing my friends. The bottom was falling
out of my world, I had lost all desire to escape; for days 1 went around
unable to speak to anyone. We had not thought it was our boys; we
thought it must be an arms practice, but then a wardress from the west
of Ireland broke it to me.

Margaret Skinnider was one of those in with me; she had been out in
1916 in St. Stephen’s Green with the Citizen Army, and had been
wounded then.(2) In January, 1923, all of us were moved to the North
Dublin Union, a vast barracks of a place and very cold. I was released
eventually, nearly a year later, in December, in time just to make my
way home to Donegal for Christmas. Was my mother glad and relieved
to see me again: so many awful things had happened in the meantime.

My sister now had a house in Clareville Road, in Rathmines. I
returned to her. She had a job, and kept a few boarders; I had none,
nor could I find any, so we both lived frugally. We did not starve, but
neither could we throw a party. If you wanted to travel anywhere you
walked or cycled; you made clothes last longer, and when they were
worn out, you remade them again. When the Sweep started in 1930,1
wrote to Joe McGrath and told him I had no job. He invited me to
come in. Like a lot of other Republicans, I got my first steady job
there. He was a rough customer, but good at the back of it all

CUMANN NA MBAN

Meanwhile, after I was released, I returned to Cumann na mBan. I
remember one night shortly after, we were in the Mansion House at a
Cosgrave meeting. I had this bundle of leaflets, so 1 went upstairs,
moved along until I was over the platform, whereupon I sent the whole
lot cascading down. I was arrested and spent a night in the Bridewell.
Altogether I was in jail three times in the late twenties on various
charges ot not being a lady, although I never claimed to be one, and it is
too late to start now. As an example of that, our office in Dawson
Street, was sealed by the police. I said to Sheila Humphreys; we have
got to get our stuff out of there. This is going on much too long. But what
will you do? You just wait, I said, I threw my shoulder against it, and it
flew open. It was about that time that we made our rounds of the
Grafton Street shopkeepers who were flying Union Jacks in the
celebration of the Tailtean Games, in August, 1928. We saw no reason
why they should fly the English flag. Still we were nice and civil when
we called. We would try persuasion. l ean recall this lassie, somewhere
near the Chatham Street comer; nothing would persuade her. / will not
take it down, she said. Alright then, on your own head be it. Next
morning, early, I was down there, and I smashed her window with a big

E1THNE COYLE

157

stone. The Union Jack quickly disappeared. On another occasion a
great big Union Jack was flying over this shop in Dawson Street I
could only enter by ringing the hall-door bell. 1 was admitted easily
enough as they thought I had some business upstairs. Going to the first
floor, I opened a window and quickly released the rope. It fell to the
pavement, and who should it fall beside but Hannah Sheehy-
Skeffington. who was staring up at it. Was I glad to see her. She rolled
it up and took it with her. We made a bonfire of it and others, at a
public meeting in O’Connell Street later addressed by Mrs.
Despard,(3a) Maud Gonne, Bob Briscoe and others. However we lost
three girls who were arrested and sentenced.

Another of our Cumann na mBan activities at that time 1926-1929,
was calling upon jurors who might be sitting upon political cases. Our
practice was to write to each of them making the best case we could for
finding the person not guilty.(3) Of course the government of W. T.
Cosgrave said this was intimidation. They shifted away from the
normal administration of justice by introducing a Juries Protection Bill
in May. 1929.

Fitzgerald-Kenney was the Minister for Justice; of him Col. Maurice
Moore said in the Senate; as far as l can see, the Minister is out for a
scrap. He is going in the right direction to produce murder and outrage.

It was a very iniquitous bill. It provided for the total anonymity of
jurors. Nine out of twelve could convict. To make its passage easier,
bogus threatening letters were sent to businessmen in Dublin. Issues of
An Phohlacht were seized; Madame MacBride was arrested for
criticising it and held for six months. Meanwhile Sean was held five
months before being acquitted. (4)

A while before this in October 1924 I was sent into the Six Counties
electioneering for Sinn Fein, although I was never a member. We had
very few speakers so we had to spread the talent we had as thinly as
possible. Very foolishly I sent Mary MacSwiney to Cookstown. Imagine
how upset I was when she arrived in McAleer’s hotel in Dungannon,
hours later, crushed and battered by an Orange mob. I felt so sorry that
we had not a few male speakers to spare, but we had not.

It is perhaps a pity that Fianna Fail did not come to power in 1927,
because their spirit was not quite dead then, though I had no respect
for De Valera when he took the Oath in order to enter Leinster House.
They could still have worked away from the Treaty and towards a
Republic w hen they came to power in 1932. But they chose not to.

I knew Frank Ryan very well. He was a sincere nice lad; ready to
face anything. I was delighted when his remains were brought home
from Dresden. He stayed with my sister in Clareville Road for more
than a year. Shortly after coming there, sitting at tea one evening he
passed me the sugar, which I refused; / never knew what made vou so

158

EITHNE COYLE

sour looking Eithne , now I know . He was always ready with harmless
slapdash humour like that. One of his frequent visitors was Geoffrey
Coulter. He was assistant editor of An Phoblacht in 1928-1929, a very
shy sensitive character.

I remember I was at an I.R.A. Convention in Walshes of
Templeogue in February, 1931. Cathleen McLoughlin, Moss’s future
wife came over to me and presented me with a big bar of chocolate.
Sean Russell was present; so was Donal O’Donoghue. Donal was
always so gloomy. I would classify him as a moderate, I suppose,
unlike Price or Frank Ryan who were ready for anything. Donal was
chairman of the Boycott campaign later, and editor of An Phoblacht.
The big item on the agenda then was the steadily increasing coercion
from W. T. Cosgrave, piloted by his police chiefs Neligan and Eoin
O’Duffy, and what we could do to avoid it. The framework for Saor
Eire was also discussed, but I cannot recall much of that now.

I was not involved in Saor Eire. My husband Bernard O’Donnell
from Moville was in it, up to his eyes; I thought that one out of the
house was enough. I say, one out of the house, because we were
running around together. He had been in the First Northern in the Tan
struggle, remained anti-Treaty and was imprisoned, and continued
attached to the Dublin Brigade I.R.A. until the mid thirties. The mid
thirties was the big divide in all our lives, because, those of us who had
been in the struggle, were approaching forty at that time. We had not
much time left that we could effectively give to the Movement.

Anyway, to return to Saor Eire. O’Duffy was then sent by Cosgrave
on a tour of the bishops. They obligingly issued a rabble-rousing
pastoral condemning it. But of course it is not the first time they did
that.

I was involved in the Bass Boycott of 1932. We were out every night
putting up posters and painting with a stencil upon walls and
pavements. I was arrested once in O’Connell Street with a friend of
mine from Donegal. They brought us along to the Bridewell and held
us there for a month. It is a filthy place as you know.

Helena Moloney was a great lady, very much concerned for the
working women, and a sound Republican. We were never stuck for a
speaker while she was about. Likewise too Hannah Sheehy-
Skeffington. She was a great character and full of humour. Give her
two minutes and she would come and speak anywhere for you. When
she was released from Armagh Jail in February, 1933, MossTwomey
asked me to go and meet her at Dundalk.(5) Seeing me there she
rushed from the train and threw her arms around me. I was the first
woman she could talk to for weeks and she was thrilled to find me
there. We travelled on to a welcome in Drogheda, and then to a vast
meeting at College Green. Peadar O’Donnell, Mick Price, Madame

EITHNE COYLE

159

MacBride, Sean MacBride and Mick Fitzgerald spoke. On the
platform were Mrs. Despard and Mrs. Tom Kettle.

The l.R.A. was very strong in the early years of De Valera, from
1932 onwards. Everything was done in the open, parades,
commemorations and ceilis. Cumann na mBan would hold their own,
and the l.R.A. would turn up at them.

When Republican Congress was formed in April, 1934, I attended
their first Congress at Athlone. I felt however that they had got off to a
wrong start, so I drew back and put all my energies into Cumann na
mBan.(6) They faded away but there was no bitterness between us. I
got married in 1935; although the Movement was fragmenting now and
the personnel was changing I remained on for a few years still. But
eventually it was time to go.

REFERENCES

1 In September. 1921. according to Michael Collins, there were 3.200 men
imprisoned in the south of Ireland, also forty girls, and some hundreds more in the
north.

2 With Fred Ryan and others she attempted to storm and set fire to a house behind
the Russell Hotel in which it was thought an English sniper was concealed. Ryan was
killed, and Margaret received three bullet wounds.

3 We used deliver these personally at the houses, big posh houses up long dark
avenues they all seemed to be. We took to our heels as soon as we dropped it in the box.

. 3 , a . C ^ rlolle Despard (1844 1939) died lonely and penniless in Whitehead, Co.
Antrim. She was a sister of Lord French who presided over the Black and Tans. Maud

Hmch C inson e |9M.° ra ' i0n *" °' aSneVin ' SeC An ^husbanded Life, by Linklater.

4 Others held at that time included Tod Andrews who had been on the reserve of the
l.R.A. since 1924.

5 She had entered the North as a gesture of defiance although there was an
Exclusion Order against her. and had been sentenced to one month's imprisonment. At
this time she was assistant editor of An Phoblacht.

6 The following is an extract from an address given by Eithne Coyle to Cumann na
mBan in 1935. Its uncompromising political direction speaks for itself:

Many of our people foolishly thought that the Proclamation of Easter Week would
soon be put into effect (by the new government of Fianna Fail). To the eternal disgrace
of a so-called national government that Coercion Act — the clauses of which are base
and wicked enough to have been conceived by the very demons of hell — is today
enacted against members of the Irish Republican Army. Cumann na mBan, Congress
Groups and other kindred organisations in this country. I say here today that the
Coercion Act, let it be used against O'Duffy's fascists or against Irish Republicans, is a

EITHNE COYLE

disgrace to our national honour; to the depraved Irishmen who were responsible for
framing it, and to the members of the present Government who have been using it,
chiefly against Irish patriots.

We members of Cumann na mBan, assembled in Convention here today, offer no
apology to the rulers North or South of this partitioned land in asserting our rights as
freeborn Irishwomen to repudiate that Treaty and the Imperial Parliament of
partitioned Ulster, and it is sheer hypocrisy of De Valera or Craigavon to talk of unity or
prosperity, inside or outside the Empire until that infamous Treaty and the Charter of
Partition are torn to shreds and a free Ireland is set up — an Ireland where, according to
the Proclamation of Easter Week 1916, there will be equal rights and equal
opportunities for all the people, irrespective of creed or class — an Ireland where the
exploitation of Irish workers by imported or native capitalists will be ruthlessly
exterminated; an Ireland where those who have always borne the brunt of the struggle
for freedom will raise the flag of the Workers’ Republic, and put an end for all time to
that state of chaos and social disorder which is holding our people in unnatural bondage.

The Blueshirt organisation in Ireland is just as great a menace to the Republican
Movement and to the Irish workers as the Blackshirts of Italy, or the Brownshirts of
Germany are in their respective countries at the present time.

General view of Upton Station.

Commdt T. Kelleherpoints to the exit through which the mortally wounded Pat O'Sullivan, Battalion Engineer,

crawled, still firing at the enemy

161

Neil

Gillespie

Volunteer,

2nd Northern Division, IRA

My father’s name was Dan, or Daniel if you prefer. My mother’s
name was Catherine McMenamin. She was bom in Derry, in
Waterside. My father came from Shroove, up at Inishowen Head, one
of the most northerly parts of Ireland. My father was a pilot on the
Foyle River; it was a sort of a semi-official job: one that was regarded
as quite good at that time. He had no interest in politics; he did not
even know what Home Rule was.

I was born in January 1899, in the village of Shroove. We moved to
Derry city in 1914. My father had been transferred to the port which
was then developing a big trans Atlantic and cross channel trade. The
first thing that inspired me was my reading. I can remember how
fascinated I was when I read T.D. Sullivan’s Story of Ireland. Others
that I remember now were William Bulfin’s Rambles in Eireann,
portions of Jail Journal, Speeches from the Dock and Knocknagow.
They gave me an insight into the Fenian Movement. I can recall
reading too about the Famine, the breaking of the van in Manchester,
and the story of the Erin's Hope and the Catalpa. I read too about the
heroes of an earlier age. Jimmy Hope, Henry Joy and Wolfe Tone. I
cannot now understand how those books came into my hands because 1
did not buy them; they were already in the home, all of which makes it
hard to understand when I think of how unpolitical my father was.

That was the way we came to live here in Elmwood Terrace, on the
Lone Moor Road, which fringed the Bogside. There were eight
altogether in our family, six boys and my parents. I had been at the
National School in Shroove; when I came to Derry I was sent to the
Christian Brothers. Shortly after that the Volunteers were founded in
Dublin. Young and all as I was 1 soon joined them when they reached
Derry. However. I must have found myself in Redmond’s Volunteers
because I remember leaving them and joining the Irish Volunteers
which turned out to be the only one worth joining.

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NEIL GILLESPIE

The only man I can remember coming to address us from Dublin was
a man called Herbert Moore Pirn. He was an officer in the Volunteers
against whom an expulsion order was made prior to 1916. He
addressed us in the old Bogside, setting out what our aims and
objectives were. There were about twentyfive of us present in the
Shamrock Hall, situated right beside the slaughter house.

1 cannot remember receiving any notice about “manoeuvres” for
Easter Sunday 1916. My senior officers may have got a notice like that,
but we knew nothing of it, and of course Derry played no part in the
Rising. Several men were interned afterwards. Funny enough I felt
when 1 read about it that they had acted too quickly in view of all the
confusion. I thought it would have been better to have waited a wee
while longer. John Fox, Willie and Paddy Hegarty, Eamonn
McDermott, Paddy Shiels, Eddie Duffy, and a few r more were lifted
from here. Eamonn worked in a coal office and was the father of Dr.
Donal McDermott. Paddy Shiels and Paddy Hegarty were very active
afterwards.

We had become the Irish Republican Army now, but I must admit it
brought no great rush to the colours as far as Derry was concerned.
Conscription in April 1918 brought many in but they did not stop in.

There was very little activity subsequently in Derry, unlike what it is
today. The city was never really nationally minded. Even in 1920 l can
remember a British Army football team, the Dorsetshires, played a
local team, the Ashfields. That would be inconceivable today. The
only activity I can remember was a Sergt. Higgins who was shot dead
coming out of St. Eugene’s Cathedral later on, in 1921, I think; I had
no part in that. An active service unit was then organised; as far as I
know it was intended for action in Donegal. The famous Charlie
McGuinness was in charge, Dominic Doherty was a member; so also
was John Kennedy, nick-named Lip, Tommy McGlinchy, Pat Moore
and others. George and Alice McCallion were very active too, but they
were not in that unit. The unit never got doing very much, however, as
most of them were rounded up in Donegal and conveyed back here in a
British warship called the Wasp . They were put into Ebrington
Military Barracks, and Charlie McGuinness escaped from there. It was
quite a feat for him to do so. He was a trained seaman, his father being
skipper of the Carriglea. The sea was in his blood, and of course he was
destined to commence now those successful gun-running exploits
about which you have heard from others.(l)

However, as I said, things were very quiet here. There were very few
attacks on the police, no attacks at all on soldiers within the city, no
buildings blown up, no ambushes, nothing like that. Derry in 1920, was
very much a contented or loyal — whatever way you like to put it —
naval base. The sort of things we read about in the South, even in Co.

NEIL GILLESPIE

163

Tyrone, were inconceivable to our way of thinking. The man in charge
here was Charlie McWhinney. He later married Linda Kearns in
Dublin; she was a very famous girl in her own right. He was a teacher in
the Technical College in the Strand Road, He had to get out and head
for Dublin after the Treaty.

I had no doubt when the Truce was announced that we had not won.
None at all. You see partition was already built into the Government
of Ireland Act of 1920. and I knew no matter what way negotiations
went, the British were going to try to achieve that. Even afterwards
when the Boundary Commission^) met in 1924/25, they engaged in
the psychological warfare of pretending to take back Donegal. People
were so relieved that Donegal was not lost that they all accepted the
status quo. While the Loyalists formed a majority in the nine counties
of Ulster, it was too slim for them to grab that. By slicing off three
counties however, they left a substantial majority in the other six,
substantial enough to ensure that it remained a happy hunting ground
for them and their planter decendants, secula seculorum.

Interned

I was utterly and absolutely opposed to all of this, to the Treaty, to
the Free State, and later on to the charade known as Stormont. We
were under arms at that time at a place called Skeog, near Burt, when
we were attacked by Free State forces, shortly after their occupation of
the Four Courts. We were in Hatericks farm house. I was occupying an
outpost when we were attacked by forces from Buncrana. We had
controlled much of Donegal before that, but now the Staters rolled
over us and occupied the country. Our old tactics were no match for
them.

Seven of us escaped from Hatericks, the rest being captured. About
a week afterwards. I and a few more were again surrounded in a house
near Muff. There were a few shots fired; some of the lads got out but 1
was caught along with my pride and joy, a nice new Mauser rifle. One
of the Staters was killed. I was brought to Buncrana and placed in the
old Lough Swilly Hotel for one night. I was then taken to the police
barracks and placed in a cell where I remained for the best part of five
weeks. Along with fifty or more others, swept in from all parts of
Donegal, I was then placed aboard a vessel, the Lady Wicklow, and
conveyed to Dublin. We lay seven days in the Lady Wicklow, most of it
anchored in Dublin Bay. and during that time we did not get a bite to
eat. _

We were conveyed then from Dublin to Newbridge Camp, where we
occupied the former stone built barracks of the British Army. I had
been picked up early in the Civil War; I had escaped the real onslaught.

164

NEIL GILLESPIE

the executions and all that went with them. All that we had to do in
Newbridge was to put in time. There were hundreds there doing the
same thing. Sean MacBride was there for a while in the Spring of 1923.
He was transferred back to Mountjoy when caught trying to escape.
Seamus MacGrianna, the renowned Irish writer ("Maire”) along with
his brothers Hiudai. Donal and Seosamh were there. All four spent
their time walking around the compound together. They did not mix a
great deal with the other prisoners. What puzzled me aftewards when I
came to reading the writings of Seamus he seemed only to want to
quote from the English classics as though he was ashamed of being an
Irish speaker. We had a few classes with him but he left us. You will
never learn Irish, he said, because you will never have the right bias. (3)
Escape was constantly being talked about and quite a few tunnels were
dug. I remember a man being brought back with his hands up and a
bullet in his chest. He had been caught emerging from one.

Late in October 1923 word came through from Mountjoy about the
great hunger strike which had commenced there. We joined it also. I
was on it for twenty one days, and the only thing I can recall from it was
the feeling I had constantly of sheer, mad ravenous hunger. Even when
asleep, which you could do only fitfully, you would dream of food,
creamed potatoes, chicken, bacon and cabbage, the sort of thing some
of us had not seen for years. On November 23rd, envoys arrived from
the Movement and called off the strike. I was very glad. Commdt.
Denis Barry had already died in our camp. There were other deaths
too. By Christmas however, I, like most of the others was out again,
released, a free man. I could return to Derry and try to resume my life
again.

The only opening available to me, and one that appealed to me
anyway, was a seaman. I joined a boat here, crossed the Atlantic, and
for the next couple of years went up and down the American coast
between the States, the West Indies, Brazil, Uraguay, and the
Argentine. I got to know all of the great seaports of these countries.
Some of my mates settled down in Philadelphia, New York, and
Detroit. However, I could not get used to the idea of living anywhere
else except in Ireland, in Derry as a matter of fact. So about 1928, I
came home.

Home Again

My father was still working, and the home was there on the Lone
Moor Road, I was lucky therefore as there was not much work to be
had. I commenced knocking at doors, selling insurance: a penny and
twopence a week the policies were then. I sold tea as well. I was an
agent only. I had no stocks. I travelled around on a bicycle, sometimes

NEIL GILLESPIE

\Kc 165

going as far as Limavady. Donegal was cut off. so to speak; we could do
no business on that side.

I took up with the Movement again. Sean Adams was the big noise
here at that time. Terry Ward also, before he went to Dublin- Mickey
Shields and a few more. Paddy McLogan was our main HQ contact
Mick Price came here two or three times. Maud Gonne came too. to a
number of Manchester Martyrs concerts that we held regularly in the
Foresters Hall. She was unflagging in her support of anything like that.

I attended staff meetings in Dublin fairly regularly. I cannot now
remember what they were concerned with. There was very little hap¬
pening and no real policy making. There were very few in jail here at
that time. The vast majority ot Republicans here supported De Valera
when he came to power in 1932. not that it mattered much since they
could not be included in his electorate. As usual however, I was against
him; I could not see that his policies would make the slightest difference
to us. II we were to make a change we would have to do it ourselves.

Our unit had almost no armament. I had a Martini rifle; there were a
tew Thompsons and shorts, but hardly any ammunition, and no
prospect at that time of getting any. Paddy Toland was our
quartermaster, but that merely meant that he fixed us with dumps
Occasionally we went into Donegal, to Hollywell Hill and to Grianan
to tire off a few rounds. At least it helped to sustain interest.

The various Chiefs of Staff never visited Derry, so far as I know;
therefore I never had much opportunity of knowing any of them. I did
however, meet Sean Russell a few times in Dublin. I can remember on
one occasion he told me to pick up in Sligo town a Thompson sub
machine gun and a Webley which he was sending to us. I brought them
from Sligo to Derry by car. He did not however, discuss with me his
plans for a campaign in England. I was entrusted with the task then of
bringing gelignite from Dublin to Carrigans and transferring it via a
shipping contact I had. to England. Of course in many ways I was far
too prominent, far too well known to be doing that. I remember on one
occasion passing close to two policemen in the Diamond when I
overheard one say to the other; that's Neil Gillespie. Another time,
when I was carrying a load of gelignite on the carrier of my bike, I met
these two policemen pedalling towards me. It was getting dark at the
time, so I just lowered my head a piece and kept on. One day coming
out of the house I had a load of detonators inside the sweat band of my
hat, when 1 was overtaken by this policeman who knew me. He was
coming off customs duty and he insisted on keeping pace with me on
the bike talking to me all the time. I thought I would never get away
from him. On another occasion when I was carrying a parcel of this
gelignite there was a small explosion in the same street. I thought I
would be nabbed, but fortunately no one seemed to notice me.

166

NEIL GILLESPIE

There was a mini round up in Belfast prior to Christmas 1938, which
showed, as far as I was concerned, that the Stormont government had
some intimation that something was afoot. They made no move in
Derry however. Then in January 1939, the Army Council presented
their ultimatum to Lord Halifax, the British Foreign Secretary, which
he, sound man and High Church that he was — he wrote a book of
ghost stories you know — insisted on ignoring. Of course the bombs
went off, in London, in Manchester, in Liverpool and other places.
The outbreak of the European War in September put an end, very
largely, to the few squibs we had. The rest of the action clearly was
going to be here, but we were ill prepared for it.

I was picked up on May 23rd 1940. I had been arrested earlier and
charged on the first of April with incitement, or something like that.
Nil meas agam ar an gcuirt seo,( 4) I said to the magistrate. I see no
reason for amusement, he replied sourly. Perhaps that is why they are
trying me on All Fools Day, I answered. I was acquitted then, but of
course I knew it would be only a matter of time till they got me on
something else. Well, as you know, there is no answer to internment. If
they don't like you they can always intern you.

I was lodged first in the old jail for about three months. We were
brought then to the prison ship Al Rawdah, on Strangford Lough. It
was no cruise liner I can tell you. We were there for about eighteen
months; then we were transferred to Crumlin Road Prison, Belfast,
where I remained with hundreds more until August 1945, that is, four
months after the war ended in Europe. We were released then. I was
married of course in 1931, and had a growing family, but that would
make no difference to the authorities here.

REFERENCES

1 For more aboul McGuiness see references under Pax 6 Faolain and Sean
MacBride.

2 Set up under Article 12 of the Treaty. Its members consisted of Judge Fcetham.of
South Africa, J. R. Fisher, a Belfast Unionist, and Eoin MacNeill.

3 Speech, accent.

4 I have no respect for this court.

167

Mrs. Patsy
O'Hagan

of Newry and Dundalk.
Cumann na mBan

Margaret Francis Russell Boyd was born in 1899 in Newry. Her
parents were business people arid like most business people they lived
above their shop in the main street (on the site of the present
Woolworths) of that town.

My family s name was Boyd. My great grandfather was
Presbyterian. They carried on and still do — a successful hardware
business in another premises in the same street. The children of mv
great grandfather used to walk with him to church on Sundays. They
were Catholic. Close by their ways would part. He would go towards
his church and they would proceed into theirs. The religious divide was
not as marked then as it has since become.

My father Andrew Boyd inherited the hardware business. He met
Agnes Grimshaw, a pram manufacturer of Liverpool, sometime in the
late eighties. Despite the English sounding name, she was in fact Irish.
Her mother and father were from outside Newry. They had emigrated
to Liverpool where they set up in pram manufacturing and in time
became quite wealthy. My mother remained involved in the business
and retained her connections with Liverpool. There were six children
in our family, three boys, two of them died young, and three girls. My
eldest sister Mary Morrow, is eighty eight, still very much alive and
head of ( umann na mBan in Killyleigh, near Downpatrick.

My father died when we were young. I only barely remember him.
My mother took over the business and ran it successfully. We all
enjoyed a very comfortable childhood. We were all reared well and
sent to the best schools. We spent part of our holidays in Omeath,
where we had a weekend home. There was a rail connection at that
time around the peninsula; ten minutes brought you from our house in
Newry to a small village that was still part of the Gaeltacht. We
attended the college there to learn Irish. Eoin MacNeill was one of our
teachers along with Peadar O Dubhtha and others.

168

MRS. PATSY O’HAGAN

Mv mother exercised a commanding influence upon us in every way.
Behind the scenes she was a strong nationalist and undoubtedly this
was to influence us. John Mitchel’s grave in our town was a great place
of pilgrimage. My mother had a great regard for him. They never met
of course but their life-spans, he as an old man, and she as a little girl,
actually overlapped. She attached great importance to her romantic
reconstruction of her i remember John MitcheT memory.

Mary joined Cumann na mBan as soon as it arrived in Newry. That
must have been around 1914. I joined as soon as I left school in 1917.
Later, as you know Cumann na mBan stood strongly against the
Treaty rejecting it by 419 votes to 63.(1) That is a measure of how we
felt about it.

Andrew, my brother, was present in the Rotunda on the night in
November 1913 when the Irish Volunteers were founded. Until
recently I still had a photo of him in his uniform. I lived with my uncle
then in Rathfriland, which is strongly loyalist country. I had gone to
him when I was five. From the year 1911 until the summer of 19161 was
a boarder in the Loreto Convent, St. Stephen’s Green. Ria Mooney,
later the actress and a producer in the Abbey, was there then as a day
pupil: we were very close friends. We lived upstairs next to Vincent's
Hospital, in the big Georgian houses. I must have been on holidays
when the Easter Rising broke out there as I do not recall anything like
that happening while we were there; and of course the Green was a
scene of great activity.

I left the Loreto in June 1916, and returned to John Mitchel Place,
Newry, as my uncle in Rathfriland had since died. Meanwhile Andrew
had been to Dublin to serve his time in a big hardware emporium there.
When he returned to Newry my mother handed the shop over to him. It
is still thriving as Russell Boyds, from Lord Russell of Killowen, with
whom we had kinship. A year or so later, it must have been 1917,1 can
remember Countess Markievicz and Maud Gonne coming to stay with
us. They had come to establish a sluagh( 2) of Fianna in Newry, and of
course they enrolled hundreds. Later Maud Gonne was to stay with us
many times. She was a marvellous person; sure they all were then.

Calling House

Young and all as I was, I played my part in the great election of
December 1918 which returned Sinn Fein with a seventy-five per cent
vote of support and set the seal upon the future Irish Republic. I was
with Fr. Michael O’Flanagan, in Monaghan, for much of that cam¬
paign. He travelled everywhere to meetings in the most out-of-the-way
places, wherever they were called, managing sometimes to attend two
on the one night. He was a great friend of my mother, an absolutely

169

MRS. PATSY OHAGAN

marvellous person. Later when I was interned in 1941, he came to see
me in Mountjoy. He was greatly upset by that experience.

We were all aware of the clever, skilful party that we were up
against, but we did not care. We did not think much of them. Our
gospel was a simple one; free Ireland from the English. Get control of
our own resources. Of course we never expected it would turn out as it
has. The people were wildly enthuiastic. There was no stopping them.
They would have voted for us no matter what we told them.

I was in the public gallery on January 19th when the first Dail met
and re-affirmed the Republic. The provisional constitution of the Dail
was read and passed unanimously; the Declaration of Independence
was read and adopted; three delegates were appointed to the
forthcoming Peace Conference(3) and the Democratic Programme
was read and adopted.

I had gone there with a Dundalk girl, from Park Street, a Miss
Hamill. later Clarke. We were staying at the home of Dr. Con
Murphy, TD.. in Garville Avenue, Rathgar, where our family always
stayed when we visited Dublin. We stayed there a few days. He had
two daughters, Kathleen and Connie, both in Cumann na mBan.
Erskine Childers called while I was there; he had some publicity
business with Dr. Murphy. Sean Lemass also came. Everyone seemed
delighted the way things were going. I met Childers on the steps going
down to the kitchen. He gave me the text of a statement to bring to the
Irish Independent. I knew my way around well and I caught the tram at
the end of the avenue. I hurried back excited and they were still there.
Years later Sean Lemass called at my husband’s house in Dundalk; he
owned a garage business in Park Street then. Lemass and he departed
for a day touring Carlingford and Omeath. We were still in ecstasies
when we returned to Dundalk.

Travel between our home in Newry and Rathgar now became more
frequent. I was acting as a courier, a behind-the-scenes girl. Many of
the important people stayed with us in Newry, and later after 1919
when I married Owen O’Hagan, at my home in Seatown Place,
Dundalk. Noel Lemass and Harry Boland stayed with us prior to the
Partition Election of May 1921; so also did Joe McKelvey, Sean
MacBride and hundreds more. I met Cathal Brugha too, many times,
but nearly always in Dublin. What did I think of him? Well, what could
I think, except that he was wonderful, a true Irishman. We loved him.

There was now military. Tans and Auxiliaries in Newry. Later!
when I went to Dundalk, they were there too. My husband agreed
completely with my activities, for the boys. He accommodated them
for transport and helped them in every way. There was not
much activity however in Dundalk. Newry was the real hot spot.
The Black and Tans and Auxiliaries patrolled the streets; there were

170

MRS. PATSY O’HAGAN

hit and run attacks upon them, very much as you have at present.

The Treaty was a tragedy when it came. We all knew that. We knew
in the North that we had been left out. It only made us more
determined not to lie down under it. What else could we do? I
continued in my role of keeping an open house, providing meals and
finding accommodation when we were already full. I sat upon the
platform at elections — I remember well the Pact Elections of May
1922 — although I never spoke. I knew my limitations and public
speechmaking was one of them.

We came to Rathgar again a few days after the attack upon the Four
Courts. We travelled by car this time. There was a lot of sporadic
shooting. The Murphy’s were broken hearted. It was such a big change
from that day in January 1919 when I first ran intoCathal Brugha upon
the kitchen steps. Everything seemed bright and rosy than: now
Irishmen were at each other’s throats.

Aftermath

Moss Twomey often stayed with us in the after years, in the twenties
and in the thirties. I had a great regard for Moss. When Owen died in
the early sixties, Moss was the one person I was glad to see at the
funeral.

Peadar O’Donnell too; yes. I liked Peadar. I did not pay great
attention to some of his theories but I loved his droll humour; he was so
offhand and gay. I really enjoyed him. Jim Killeen and Mick Kelly. I
always link them. They stayed too. I remember welcoming them when
they finished a big jail sentence in Belfast in 1941.

Sean Russell; yes, I knew him well. My husband left him to the boat
the last time he left Ireland. Frank Ryan too; he came a few times.
George Gilmore; he was very straight. Charlie and Harry also. Of
course many of these people simply came to meetings, and they
departed again as swiftly. Sometimes you would get a chance to strike
up an acquaintance; more often you saw them briefly while serving a
meal and the chance of making any real acquaintanceship was lost.

We were raided often of course. First by the military and Tans. Later
by the Free Staters, the Oriel House gang, the Broy Harriers, the
Special Branch, every sort of policeman, uniformed and subversive,
that you could think of. Nothing of value was ever found by them, and I
cannot remember that anyone was ever arrested. I was never arrested
even myself in the period that I am speaking of. It was left to Frank
Aiken and Gerald Boland to intern me one evening in 1941. It was the
way that they did it that made me despise them. I was in the house with
two children when they arrived. We want you for a few moments at the
barracks, they said. 1 did not disbelieve them, though perhaps that was

MRS. PATSY O HAGAN

171

foolish on my part. I left the children there and stepped into the car. It
never stopped until we passed through the double gateway of
Mountjoy. My mother was alive then. She came to Dublin and said
everything across the table to De Valera. He knew her of course,
because he had stayed in her house in Newry.

Meanwhile I was in with about twenty other girls and women. My
own daughter was there. So also was Fiona Plunkett; she was a sweet
person, vivacious and lively, and very artistic. Maeve Phelan was
there; Noneen Brugha, a wonderful person; I was very fond of her.
Cathleen and Mary Mulready from Mullingar were there, two of the
Staunton girls, Mary and Maeve.

The girls had to fight before I came for proper political treatment.
We were interned. We had not been convicted of anything, so in the
end they had to acknowledge it. Sean Kavanagh was the Governor,
and not the worst, I must say. He could have been real tough. I
remember him coming to my cell one morning to tell me of the
execution of a great friend of mine Ritchie Goss. Ritchie had stayed so
often with us.

Finally in 1943, I was released. Pack up , said Kavanagh, bustling
into my cell, you are going. / cannot see the last of you soon enough.
The city was scarcely awake when I was outside on the pavement, a
free woman again.

REFERENCES

1 At the Convention in Dublin on February 5th, 1922.

2 Company.

3 Eamonn De Valera, Arthur Griffith and Count Plunkett. De Valera and Griffith
were not present; they were in jail; the former in Lincoln, from which he escaped on
February 3rd, and the latter in Gloucester from which he was released in March. Only
twenty-four members were present, most of the others being imprisoned. It is said that
had De Valera and Griffith been present the affirmation of a Republic might not have
been so definite; the two elder statesmen might have shirked the constraints of what De
Valera was later to refer to as a straitjacket. P. S. O'Hegarty in his History of Ireland
Under the Union supports this view.

172

James

McElduff

Captain

2nd Northern Division,
First Brigade

My father’s name was Brian McElduff, from this area, Cleggan. It is
the old historic heart of Ulster into which the Gael retreated after
1608, and from which they continued to raid the planter people of the
lowlands. It is the country of Dean Bryan McGurk(l) and of Sean
Bearnagh, the rapparee of Altmore, and in more recent times ot
Joseph McGarrity and Christy Meenagh. In a long poem McGarnty in
exile recalled the local characters:

Oh where is Mickey McElduff,

Who used to make St. Brigid’s crosses.

Or Gaster Roe so stout and rough.

Who bought and sold the saddle horses.

Brave Fenian Christy Meenagh,

With many younger men.

Made many a Peeler quake with fear.

In highway and in glen.

My mother’s name was Mary Slaine. a real Tyrone name. She was a
quiet hardworking woman, like many of the country people around
these parts. I was born in 1898 and learned all my history from my
father He used tell us of the famine, the black ’47; that was the year
that Carrickmore Church was built. The labourers on it had only a
gruel of milk and porridge to work on. They hand lifted the stones on
to a timber scaffold and they worked all day for a shilling.

I was seventeen when the Easter Week rising occurred. It was a
tremendous shock to me because I had never expected anything like
that to happen. I thought any chance of fighting the English was over
and done with long ago. I was not involved in anything myself although
there were people around here who were. They had been told to gather
in Carrickmore, when word arrived on Easter Sunday that it was all
off Those that had come in from outside went home again.

JAMES McELDUFF

173

They did not meet Nora Connolly although she arrived at the
McCartan homestead not far from here. The executions passed over,
but we knew that it was not the end of it. People like Jimmy Grugan of
Trumogue, Jimmy McElduff of Aghagogan, Pat Gallagher of
Sixmilecross, Hugh Rogers, Hugh McCrory of Dunmoyle had been
lifted from around here and interned. We all joined Sinn Fein and
waited for something to happen. 1 was in the Sinn Fein cumann at
Altdrumman. An organiser came from Dublin in 1917; he explained
the aims and objectives of the movement to us and invited us to join the
Volunteers. Fifteen or twenty of us had been selected by him. Don't
blame me , he said, but in the coming fight for a free Ireland you may
have to yield up your very life. Anyone that does not wish to fulfill these
obligations . let him say so , there is the door. He can leave now , but
anyone that stays in I will make a soldier of him.

ACTION

We had no arms at all. After a while we got one Lee Enfield rifle. We
went on from there, raiding houses, mostly the loyalists and unionists
around here for guns, and that way we got a few more. They were a
quare mixture.

Frank Curran, he is dead now in America, was the OC of our
company. I was Adjutant, Our first action, it might have been late in
1919, was an attack on Mountfield police barracks. It was already
abandoned by the RIC, so it was a good target to start off with. We did
not burn it. We went in and we broke it up. We left it that it could not
be repaired again. There was a German living next door to it. He used
to be a butler with Sir Lionel McMahon. He had a motor car, which
was a scarce commodity at that time, but, more important, he was
friendly to us. The only trouble we had at Mountfield was from one of
our own men. a man from Sixmilecross called McGirr, who arrived
wild drunk, and wasa nuisance to everyone. The German drove him to
a safe place where he held him until he sobered up. We had strong
views about drinking in the Volunteers; poteen making was frowned
upon, and stills were frequently broken up.

The police returned to Mountfield however, taking over a house
called McEnannas. The name of the sergeant was Murphy, a Longford
man: he was friendly to us but we did not know that. So we attacked it
again with every weapon we had, but we failed to take it, and had to
call off the action. The next day Murphy overheard in the barracks, a
company of B men(2) say among themselves, we are going to do a
Dromore at the McElduff s, meaning a killing such as had occurred at
Dromore a short time before. You will do no such thing , said he, / will
arrest those men.

174

JAMES McELDUFF

[ was arrested mowing corn in the field there, by Sergt. Murphy and
his men. At the same time Frank Curran, another lad called
McGovern, and a chap called Conway were taken. Conway’s people
were Hibernian; he himself was not in the Movement. They mistook
him for another Conway who was very active. We were brought to
Ebrington Barracks in Derry and left there. Lying on the bare boards
of the cell I thought to myself, if I get out of here no one is ever going to
put me in again. To my surprise we were released after three days with
no charge being laid against us.

We returned and got active again. Eoin O'Duffy came to this area
accompanied by Charlie Daly. They were both here to help organise
the 2nd Northern Division. O’Duffy did not stay long; he was a stickler
for discipline. Shortly after that a policeman was shot dead, a fellow
called McDonough, near Greencastle. I was not on the job myself but I
thought it the best of my play to get out. I was on the run from then on.
from the middle of 1920 until the Truce in July 1921. Dan Breen came
up then for a while to Doraville Lodge, which we had christened
Sperrin Camp during the Truce period. He would strip a bit of bark
from a tree, walk back twenty five yards, turn around and aim. He hit it
dead on every time. Ernie O'Malley was here too, although l never
met him; but I read his two books. Meanwhile we were trying hard to
improve the standard of training. I travelled all around here.
Dunnamore, Glenbiggan, The Six Towns. Rathderg. Annagh Cross,
and over into Co. Derry. Charlie Daly remained on all the time; he was
a hard organiser, a man determined to get results. I was with him and
Frank Ward from Brackey, in our first ambush here in Tyrone. God
rest Frank, he was killed, still fighting for the Republic, a year and a
half later at Dunnamore on 15th April. (I don’t know how I escaped,
because everywhere Frank was, I was). He was my comrade. I don't
know how I missed it that night.

There was another ambush planned for the Ballygawley road at a
place called Ftlbane. We travelled the night before and we stayed in
this barn belonging to a man called Farrell. Kneel down there on the
butts of vour rifles, said Charlie Daly, for some of us might not come
back. He was a very clean fighter. When darkness fell we got into the
ambush position and waited. Charlie sent me towards the bridge from
where they were expected to come. If it is civilians who come first, said
he. fire two shots; if it is police, fire one shot. With that they arrived. I
fired a single shot. Charlie stepped out and called on the vehicle to
halt. We could have opened up on them from our position without
warning but Charlie preferred to give them a chance to surrender.
They ignored him however, and drove through, though some were hit.
One car however was put out of action and the policeman in it fell out
upon the roadway. Charlie went over to him. pulled a cushion from the

JAMES McELDUFF

175

car, and placed it under his head. Are you a Catholic, he said, as he
bent down and commenced to recite an Act of Contrition. lam, sir, I
am, murmured the injured peeler. The policeman recovered and later
we learned that he was a Protestant. Perhaps he thought it was the best
of his play, having fallen into our hands, to have a sudden conversion.

Dooisrs Creamery

I want to tell you now about the burning of Doon's Creamery, near
Cookstown, on the morning of the Truce, July 11th 1921. The Tans
were burning creameries in the south belonging to the people. As a
reprisal it was decided that we in Ulster should bum some of theirs. We
had to go through a very hostile district to do the job. We had to get in
quick and we had to get out quick. We comandeered this old lorry
belonging to McCullagh of Greencastle the night before. We needed
another vehicle so we took the car of an old fella called Quinn who
used to drive the priest to Creggan chapel. Quinn had been cessed five
pounds by the IRA as a tax which he had refused to pay. We therefore
had no compunction about comandeering his car. The Dunnamore
unit approached the driver; give us the key, said one, as they climbed
in. They took it over to Creggan, and as there were still a few days to go
they built it into a stack of turf and left it there until the day of the raid.
Moving off early they intercepted a policeman on a motor cycle
heading for Omagh with despatches. Taking him prisoner, they put
him in the back of the car and drove to Dunnamore. I remember
Charlie Daly was in charge. He was in the front car with a heavy gun,
the lanyard of which was around his arm. 1 was in the next car with a
fellow called Lynn, an awful wild man. He went to America after. We
arrived at the creamery. There was an R1C barracks nearby but we
knew about that. It was already 10.30 in the morning; there was now
only an hour and a half to go before the Truce. At that minute a Tan
came out and walked across towards us. Christ, said I, would you look
at the old peeler. I blazed at him and he stuck up his two arms.
Dunnamore unit was with us. McKenna from that group went down to
a scutch mill, loaded up the old straw — it is easily ignited — into one of
the cars and brought it back. Frank Curran went up to the manager, a
B man. Put them up, said he, roughly. The manager retreated into a
side office. Curran fired immediately into the door. He went in then
and found him crouched behind an oil tank. Come out, said he, we are
going to hum the place, and we don't want you to go up with it. There
was a double barrell shot gun there which Frank took with him.

We unharnessed the carts that were lined up at the creamery and
pushed them out on the road to form a barricade while we went about
our business. The old flax and everything that was combustible was

176

JAMES McELDUFF

placed inside with an incendiary in the middle of it. I was standing in
the road as the charge was let go. The wallplate of the roof rose up a
foot and then settled down again. Then the flames took hold. It was al
over in an hour. When we got hack to Dunnamore we called into old
John McCracken. He had been out shaking holy water on us before we
left that morning. He was shot dead a year afterwards on his own
doorstep by B Specials that came to get his son.

POMF.ROY BARRACKS , . .

I will tell you now about Pomerov Barracks, which we captured in
the springtime of 1922. There was no fight there: the barracks was
handed over to us. We took the barracks without a shot, and we got
seventvfive rifles. The barracks then was in the middle of the street, as
you know, and it was manned mostly by A Specials, loyalists from
Belfast, although the sergeant in charge was a Catholic. Anyway
among the ordinary police was a man from the South called Staunton.
He took a drop of drink and for this some of the A Specials laid into
him. They beat him and kicked him. He decided he would have his own
back on them. He came this day to Frank Donnelly. You are in the
IRA he said to Frank. Frank denied it of course. Oh, / know you are
and I am going to help you. I have a brother on the run in Longford
mvself. With that he pulled up the legs of his trousers, showing Frank

his blackened shins. If I had been sober I could have beat the lot of them.

Frank took him into his confidence then. What are you going to do for
us? Give vou the barracks. / am not in a position to accept an offer like
that, said Frank, without consulting a higher authority. Could you meet
us someplace? Arrangements were made and he was met and brought
bv a guide to a house called Grugans near C arrickmore. We went
upstairs and held a meeting. He was the best organiser of the job
himself. You'll need a lorry to remove the stuff, said he. there are
seventvfive rifles and plenty of ammunition. How many police are in it?
said one; there are fourteen. How come you have seventvfive rifles and
onlv fourteen police? We had a row with the B Men and we took the
rifles off them: the arms are stored in the barracks, and they are all
downstairs.

Come at one o'clock on Sunday morning. Knock at the door and l
will let vou in. There is one thing you will want to watch. There is
another man stays up along with me. I am the senior in charge.
Sometimes when the Sergeant goes to bed. he will lie on the couch and
sleep. But, I will say this much for him; although he is an Orangeman,
he will fight.

Twelve hand picked men were selected to take the barracks itselt.
with Major Tom Morris in charge. The local men helped by trenching

JAMES McELDUFF

177

or breaching all the roads leading into the village, except the
Carrickmore road. Down that road we drove a ton Ford lorry, with
solid tyre wheels ‘borrowed’ from McCullagh of Greencastle. It
stopped on the northern outskirts of the village. We had made careful
preparations in Christie Meenagh's beforehand to the extent that we
had short lengths of rope out and ready for tying the hands of the
captives we expected to make.

The job I was detailed to do was to hold up one room in w hich there
were twelve police, me and a fellow called Paddy McAleer. from this
neighbourhood. We alighted from the lorry and assembled in the
chapel grounds on the Saturday night. Taking off our boots we moved
down the street hugging the houses. Men from the Pomeroy company
were in the entries. Alright, go ahead, they whispered as we passed
them. Knocking at the door of the barracks we were admitted by
Staunton. I led first up the stairs, a torch in one hand and a gun in the
other.

We had a rough map of the place telling us which room to go into.
The first door on the right was supposed to be the main room, I opened
it, and as I entered. I hit my shin on a toilet seat. We are in a WC, I
whispered to McAleer. We emerged and gripped the handle of the
next door. Throwing it open, we leaped inside. Don't move, said
McAleer, the first that does is dead. I saw a rifle on a shelf. I reached up
and took that. As I lifted it down this fellow sprang up out of bed and
went for his gun. Rory Graham sprang forward — Rory was a
Presbyterian minister’s son from Belfast — and he hit him on the head
with his Parabellum. The rest remained in bed; they were captives and
they knew it.

This one then said to me, give me a cigarette. Reach into that tunic
hanging up and you will get them. I went to give him one of my own.
Woodbines, but he refused it. Reaching into his pocket carefully I gave
him one of his and struck a match. In the light he took in my features
intently. Rory Graham came up behind me; You'll know that man the
next time you see him, he said to the policeman sarcastically. While the
rifles and ammunition were being stripped from the barracks, the
sergeant was permitted to go downstairs and sit by the lighted range
with a Volunteer, Frank Ward opposite him. Ward had a Thompson
across his knees. We could have a cup of tea , the sergeant confided to
Ward, there is some there on the hack of the range for the guard. That
was alright; we had all the stuff out and into the lorry when Major
Morris said to me; Are all the men accounted for? Where is Ward, said
Paddv Keenan. We found him then, safe and sound, having a cup of
tea and chatting with the sergeant. We all mounted the lorry then and
moved up the street, making again for the Carrickmore road. We took
the rifles to a secure hiding place in Athscrubbagh, where we dropped

178

JAMES McELDUFF

most of the men. It was a perfectly timed job. everything went like
clockwork. We had the lorry back again safely in McCullaghs of
Greencastle before dawn.

Talking of Rory Graham, reminds me of the night we called into old
Mrs. Mufgrew at Sulchin. We had never been in the house before but
the old lady thought she knew us. We had been walking in the dark
with a guide for Dunnamore when the rain overtook us. Boys, said he,
vou can't go any further, hut this is a safe house here. OldMrs. Mulgrew
was saying her Rosary in a corner when we arrived in. God Mess you,
poor bovs, she said as she rose; / am praying for you since last time you
were here. Only somebody is praying for us, said Rory. / don't know
where we would end up. The son was there; you can sleep in that out
shut bed, a bed built into a recess with curtains upon it. (Some of the
old people used to call it a ciiltcach). Rory got in first after we had a
drop of tea. Reach out your hand Jimmy, said he. and see if Lizzie is
beside vou on the chair. Lizzie was his Parabellum. If we are cornered,
said he. we will get away if we can. If we can't get away, sell it as dear as
possible. With that a shower of holy water decended upon us. and we
heard Mrs. Mulgrew recite a prayer for us as she retired.

After that we planned an ambush nearCarrickmore. but for reasons
that I will now relate, it never came to anything. We were well armed;
we had plenty of stuff. We were in Slaines of Granagh, and were
heading down to a place called Lignashannon. to meet another group
of the Tads that were there. Joe O’Rourke from Stewartsown. and a
fellow called McGurk. and an ex-airman and a few more. The next
moment we heard violent shooting. We did not know what was up.
Volley after volley. We soon learned that six Volunteers had been
surprised training in a field, when a couple of Crossley tenders tried to
surround them. Both parties opened up on each other. There was a
running fight across the heather and bog. A lad called Hagan was
wounded. He was carried on and left in a farmhouse where he was
hidden under some straw! A follow-up party of police arrived and
searched the house. They found Hagan. He turned King’s evidence
afterwards and gave away everything he knew about the houses we
were using. Needless to say they helped him to clear off abroad or we
might have had something to say to him.

On the Run

I had a very narrow escape after that. I was stopping in this house,
McAleers, in Athscrubbagh, accompanied by Battalion Commander
Sean Corr. Hugh O’Rourke was there too and a fellow called Barney
McCreech, quartermaster of the battalion. I had some feeling about
the house and the people. I'll not stop here tonight, I said to Corr.
Where are vou going Jimmy? I am going over to Former, there is an aunt

JAMES McELDUFF

179

of my mother s lives there. I'll he alright. (It was just as well for the
house we left was raided an hour after and O'Rourke and McCreech
were arrested). Right, said Sean, / know another house over there too,
called Slaines; we'll both go over.

I remember I had a document in my pocket, bad luck to it. It was the
diagram for a mine that Frank Aiken used on the Aghadavoyle
Viaduct: he used it to blow up a train on it. It was such a successful
mine they sent blueprints of it around to the different units. It was an
awkward contraption to make however: it was made from concrete, so
we did not use it. I slept in one bed, the old aunt in another. There was
a boy called McCullagh married into the family in another room. At
four o’clock in the morning he came to me. They have the house
surrounded. I threw the trousers on the floor. They had the document
in it. so they might walk over it. They came to the room with fixed
bayonets. Get up, they said. I raised a bit of a row about disturbing
peaceful people. Looking about them, one of them produced a form:
will you sign this document that there was no harm done in the house. I
was greatly relieved; / would, said I, but / am not the proprietor.
McCullagh signed and they departed. It was a close shave for me. But I
had a closer one. It was still 1922 and they were driving after us hard. I
was with this chap Joe McKenna in McAIeers of Athscrubbagh. He
was from a place called Killucan, near Cookstown. We were thinking
of making dugouts. My father has a mountain, said he: / think it would
be a suitable place. We will go down and see it.

Wc went down on a Saturday. I borrowed a pick from his brother but
we could not find anywhere that was right. Curfew came on then, and
we went into the house. Dan, his brother was an intelligence officer; if
you are thinking of going back to Athscrubbagh tonight, said he. look
out, the police are flying around Cam lough all day. They lie about there
and will make a raid on Dunnamore after dark. People were coming in
on their ceili as we rose to go. Where did you leave the pick, said
Johnny, his father; / left it over the bog, said I, but I'll throw it into the
lime kiln where you'll get it in the morning.

We buckled on our equipment and left by the back door. There was
a road to the left and a path leading upwards to the right. Which way
now, said I, to Paddy. One is as near as the other, said he. Oh, in that
case, said I, we will go up the path. It was as well we did. We went up
and over a stile and into a wee field in which there were cocks of hay.
Close that gate, Jimmy, said he. 1 looked back. We were not a hundred
yards from the house, when the door opened and I could see the light
shining on a big force of police entering. We had got out only in the
nick of time.

We headed on anyway by this loanen(3) for a place called Cock o’
the North, when I saw a heap in the darkness ahead. There is a dark

JAMES McELDUFF

ISO

chimp in that laneway, I whispered to Paddy. It is the cattle, he said,
they lie there for coolness. I am not going on, said I, get over the ditch
here and wait. As we did so, the clump moved forward, and passed our
hiding place. It was more police.

The less moving we do this night, said Paddy, the better. Come on
across the bog and up on the hill and we'll get a lie down. We went to
another cousin of his. They were just after saying the Rosary. You can
stay here, said one of the girls. Oh, indeed we will not, said Paddy, give
us a cup of tea, and we will stop outside. That night they raided all
around Cookstown searching for us, hut find us they could not. But the
B Specials and police were everywhere, watching every country house,
noting down everything. They were keeping us on the run.

Thf Free State

The Treaty had been signed five months before in London and we
knew we had been left out. Our Brigade went anti-Free State of
course. But with the pressures now on us from all sides it was hard to
keep going. A good number, myself included, went over into Donegal.
There I reported to Charlie Daly and Sean Lehane at McGarry's
Hotel, Letterkenny. 1 was sent from there to a place called Rockhill to
do some training. There was another camp in Glenveagh Castle. I
often met Peadar O'Donnell and his younger brother Frank there.
(Earlier in the Truce period, we had a training camp here, at a place
called Brocderg. where Father McKenna gave us the Parochial Hall.
Frank O'Neill's father was there, and I was in charge. We had two
great companies, Altdrumman and Dunnamore). We took over the
Masonic Hall in Raphoe. Sean Lehane planned a series of attacks with
mines along the border. I can remember filling them with the war
flour. Sean Lehane came in then, are you fit for the border, he said; /
am fit, said 1. We loaded the mines on this truck . Stay atClady, he said,
we are attacking Bishmount and will try to push on as far as Castlederg.
Me and a chap called Ted Devlin went down to Clady, but something
went amiss because the column was nearly surrounded by military men
from Derry, and we had to retreat again.

At that time the Republicans held Finner near Ballyshannon,
Summerhill Camp, Sligo and Boyle. I travelled *to those" places, I
remember, looking for low tension detonators, detonators that would
be instantaneous. Captain O’Doherty was in Finner. The Staters
attacked t hem there later in the Civil War and Jim Connolly, the singer of
Kinlough, was mortally wounded with three other Republicans. Speak¬
ing hoarsely to a companion as he lay upon the floor, he said: a good
soldier dies with his feet to the enemy, turn mine round.(4)

As we headed on to Raphoe, we were met by a young lady whom we

JAMES McELDUFF

181

did not know but who sought a lift from us. Our car broke down near
Ballybofey; we walked into the town which we found to be in the hands
of the Staters. They arrested the three of us. You can stay in the cell,
they said to us, but this lady can stay outside. Wherever the hoys go, /
go along too; who was she but Eithne Coyle.

We were not held for long, however. Lehane heard about us in
Raphoe; he sent a warning down to the Free State captain, and we
were released. The Civil War had not yet started. I heard that Frank
Curran had taken a commission with the Free State in Lifford. We had
been great friends; I felt there must be something wrong. Taking a
bicycle I went down to see him to have it out. When I returned,
imagine my surprise; I was held by our lads for desertion! They thought
I had gone to join the Staters. The next day Curran came to me. You
may as well come into the (Free State) Army, Curran said. So I went
with him to Harepark, on the Curragh, where I commenced training.
That is how mixed up things were. In the midst of things I took some
time off to get married. I had met a girl on holidays from Coatbridge;
Boyle was her name. I crossed over and married her there. I stopped
there for a while. When I returned it was a case of join the Free State
Army or get out of Ireland altogether. I could not go back to the North,
and if I stayed on in the South I was liable to be interned. The Civil War
was over when I joined. There are as many Republicans here as there
are anywhere, I was told when I entered the Officers Training Corps.,
in November 1923. Dalton and Tobin were getting ready for a mutiny
that never came off.

I did not like the atmosphere however, so I left after a year, and took
a job for a while labouring on the Great Southern Railway in Kildare.
That is one of the political sins of my life, that I ever had anything to do
with the Free State Army. I have spent the rest of my days making up
for it.

Back Home

Things had settled down in the North by this time, so, around 1927,1
decided to bring my wife back to Cleggan. I got a job with the County
Council, labouring upon the roads, at two pounds seven and sixpence a
fortnight. I was glad to get it because there was nothing else. 1 hung on
here; we had no land and only this wee house, but we reared a large
family, five boys and four girls, in it. Then sometime in the thirties,
some of the lads that knew my ideas came to me and said, will you give
us a bit of training? In next to no time I found myself appointed
Battalion TrainingOficer. J. B. O’Hagan could tell you all about that.
Twenty years had passed, and now we were back where it had all
started.

182

JAMES McELDUFF

REFERENCES

1 Born in Aghanagregan. Termonagurk. in 1622. Bryan McGurk was ordained a
priest in 1660. according to Rev. L. P. Murray, in Historical Studies. In 1673 he was
appointed Vicar General of Raphoe. where he lived in great poverty. From 1678
onwards he was Dean of Armagh. This was the year in which commenced the
persecutions resulting from the bogus Popish Plot, culminating eventually in the
execution at Tyburn of the Primate Oliver Plunkett. Under constant harrasment by the
government. McGurk governed the diocese in the absence of a Primate. Many times
imprisoned he was eventually arrested by Walter Dawson, old and bedridden in 1712.
and broueht to Armagh Jail, where he died shortly afterwards. Dawson received a
reward of £50.

2 B Specials — auxiliary police recruited from the Protestant community.

3 Loanen — borecn or small by-road.

4 Finner Camp is an open collection of hutments. Capt. Jim Connolly was killed
there after a surprise attack by Free State troops under Commdt. Joe Sweeney, on 30th
June (see p. 344). Connolly’s father was shot dead at his home by Tans eighteen months
previously. Commdt Patrick O’Doherty, known as “The Hun’’, throughout the 3rd
Western Brigade and Division, had taken over Finner from British forces in April. He
successfully withdrew covered by Lieut. Tom Melly, with fifty of his men in the face
of the Free State armoured assault, reorganising on the south bank of the Bundrowes
River bordering Leitrim and Donegal. Following a renewed onslaught on his position
in September he adopted harassing tactics until the end of hostilities, escaping imprison¬
ment, eventually emigrating in 1927 to New York. He there joined a banking organisa¬
tion, moving later to Portland, Oregon, where he married. He died there in 1961. Bryan
O’Doherty, his father, from Bundoran, and sons Bernard and Joseph, active in the fight
against the British, were imprisoned in Derry,and later by the Free State at Harepark
until 1924. Sister Lena, a young teacher, also was arrested, and was 21 days on hunger
strike in Kilmainham with Mary MacSwiney and others. Lena, and all of the family
thereafter suffered under the Free State, being barred from jobs. Information from
Commdt. J. P. O’Doherty , now living in Athy.

183

Nora

Connolly O’Brien

Second child of
James Connolly

I am planning to do a book upon my mother, she contributed so
much behind the scenes during the lifetime of my father. Her name was
Lillie Reynolds, a Protestant by birth and upbringing. She came from
the village of Carnew in Wicklow, where at that time there were many
of that name. Her father died at an early age, after which the family
came to live in Dublin. Her mother reared four children, two boys, and
two twin daughters. Margaret and Lillie, my mother, in Rathmines.
Margaret went to Scotland in the eightiesof the last century, where she
married, but unfortunately died upon the birth of their first child.

Lillie sought a job at an early age through the Girls’ Friendly
Society, and through them was placed with the Wilsons, a well-off
family in Merrion Square. They had a French governess who thought
highly of her: she had Lillie promoted from housemaid to teaching the
rudiments of education to the younger children, while the governess
devoted her time to preparing the older ones for public schools like
Wesley and St. Andrew's, then situated in that neighbourhood. Social
conditions at that level in the Dublin of those days were quite different
from what they are today. Any one of the families in the big Georgian
houses — they were mostly professional families — employed a
retinue of servants, six, seven or eight was not unusual. The wages
were small, but if you were lucky and were taken on by them, you lived
in, and had a chance of bettering yourself.

My mother never told me how she came to meet my father, but
according to all the accounts they met on a summer evening near a
tram-stop on Merrion Square, when they were both off on a trip to
Kingstown. The tram failed to stop for them; they entered into
conversation and the friendship ripened quickly thereafter.

At that time my father was in the British Army. He had been born in
Edinburgh of poor Irish parents, and had enlisted there, after trying
his hand at a series of dead-end jobs, in 1882. By 1889, some months

IK4

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

after meeting my mother, he had almost completed his seven-year
period of enlistment. I suppose the fact that Lillie’s mother died
meanwhile hastened their decision to get married. They had already
planned to leave Dublin: he to return to Aldershot to be demobbed
(though in fact he never went through that formality) and she to a post
in London. He decided he must have a photograph of her before this
temporary parting took place and she had one specially taken and
given to him. That photograph he kept with him always; it was among
the personal effects which we had returned to us after Easter Week,
1916.

Mv mother married my father in Perth in April, 1890, and went to
live near the Grassmarket, the Irish quarter of Edinburgh. He was
employed working for a firm that had contracts from the Cleansing
Department of the Corporation. It was not as good as if he had been
working directly for the Corporation. Nonetheless my mother used to
refer to these early years as the happiest years of her life.

I was born in Edinburgh in 1893. a few years after Mona, the eldest
of what eventually became a family of seven, Mona, myself, Aideen,
Ina. Maire. Ruaidhre (Roderic)and Fiona, the youngest who was born
in New York in 1907.(1) I can remember nothing of Edinburgh. I was
barely three when we left it and came to Dublin in May 1896. We were
very poorly off at that time. In his short stay previously, my father had
got to love Dublin; he rapidly responded therefore when he received
an invitation from the Dublin Socialist Club to go there as their paid
organiser, a job which was far from steady and left our home
permanently upon a knife-edge as to where the next crust might come
from.

Mv first memory of Dublin is therefore of a tenement room and
great poverty in Queen Street, a street of decayed Georgian houses
near Arran Quay. That is where I recount the story of how daddy
staggered in after spending a day wheeling barrows of clay upon a
building-site somewhere. He was unused to it and was quite unable to
do the work, but he had to take the first job that came as his meagre
political funds had run out. We were then near the starvation limit and
there were no social services to help us. Mother could light the fire only
at night time, and we were reduced to two slices of buttered bread each
for breakfast. Two pieces of bread are enough for little girls, she used to
say cheerfully. That is the picture I preserved in later years of things as
they were then. When I came to write the book in 1934,1 gave it to my
mother to read. She looked at it and then put it down. I waited for her
to say something, but she said nothing. Glancing quickly over, I saw
tears were running down her cheeks. Nora, she said, parents never
realise how much little children can understand and the pictures they
carry in their memories for years later. You never heard your father or

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

185

me talk about that bad time. You were only three then, vet that is a
perfect picture. When I write the book that I want to write about my
mother. I will tell of the poverty in parts of Dublin at that time. I will
try to tell of how we fared in that single room: the bare boards which
mother used to scrub upon the floor; the strip of lino between the two
beds: the trundle bed in which I slept and which was pushed under¬
neath bv day: the water carried in a bucket from the yard: the fireplace
on which much of our cooking was done with the aid of a gas-rine: all
the ingenuity she put into making a single room look like a cheerful
home.

Schooldays

Just think, said my mother to daddy; these will be the first frocks they
t vet had from material specially bought for them. Things had improved
a little bit for us. We were living. I think, in a little house near
Portobello Harbour. The frocks were in navy-blue serge with velvet
epaulets and lace trimming. The dresses, both similar, were a special
treat for us. Previously they had been made from old ones of my
mother's that she had cut up. I remember how proud we were
swanking around Camden Street afterwards. Life was like that with us
all the time, hard and severe, with little relief. From the point of view
of comfort the seven years(2) we spent in America were easily the best.
We seemed to have everything there, but father had always said.
Ireland is so twined up in my very existence that / would not abandon it
even if / could. Mother never complained. She felt that he could do no
wrong. They were a very loving couple right up to the last day of his
life. She never saw anything wrong about what he decided to do. She
never complained. They never said things could be better. But she was
glad to get out of the tenement houses, especially when he brought us
over to the States to live and we had a lovely house there, with separate
bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, a cellar and a garden at the back.

No matter how difficult things were or how crowded our home, my
mother always helped and encouraged us. When we started in school. I
was only three and Mona was going on five, yet we were able to read
and write and do addition and subtraction. She had got the experience
of teaching from having taught the young Wilson children; she coached
us. The teacher could not believe it. Hunting among the books on her
desk, she placed one in front of Mona asking her to read it. I can
remember how the teacher’s eyebrows arched as Mona glided over the
big words: then she turned to me. She foundihat I also could read. You
are too good to go into the Infants' Class, she said. And yet too young to
enter First, What shall / do? Finally she placed us in the First Class.
Within a year we were out of that and moving on to Second.

186

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

After Queen Street, we moved to the south side and in quick
succession had three addresses close to the Grand Canal, Charlemont
Street. Pimlico and finally a small cottage, that we did not have to
share w ith anyone, in Weaver Square.

The next school I remember, as a result of these moves, was the
convent in Weaver Square. We went there while we lived in another
tenement at Pimlico. Mama’s two brothers, George and Johnnie, lived
then on Charlemont Mall, not far away from any of these places. We
used often walk through Marrowbone Lane, up through Dolphin’s
Barn and along the canal. That was countryside in those days. I was
eight then. Mona had made her First Communion, but 1 was not
thought to be old enough. At school, the teacher called me the
Common Noun; I was good at grammar, could pick out the common
noun, adjectives, the tense of verbs and could quickly parse a
sentence.

Festivity in a Slum

How did we enjoy life in these circumstances? We adored our father
and he used to bring us everywhere he could. When we were a little
older, he brought me to many of his public meetings, even upon a tour
of Scotland, Glasgow. Leith, Falkirk and Edinburgh. It was the simple
things in life that meant so much to us, like the visit to 67 Middle Abbey
Street, where daddy printed the Workers' Republic upon a small hand
press.

Mother was even more resourceful. At Eastertime she would rush to
us in the morning: Get up quickly , she would say, and come to the
window to see the sun dancing. It is Easter , the season of joy and
resurrection. The sun always goes dancing today. Whatever sparkle
there was in the sun that day, we would believe that it really was
dancing. I remember in Queen Street, in the single tenement room
where we lived, she would draw back the curtain of the tall window,
allowing the early morning sun to flow in. As it lit the tea pouring from
the pot. we could fancy that we saw it dancing in the flowing liquid.
Then she placed an egg for each of us in a plate upon the table, a blue
one. a green one, a yellow one and a pink one, all dyed or coloured by
some simple recipe she had. Then crisp toast from the embers of the
open fire, with some marmalade spread sparingly upon it. That was
our Easter egg — there were no chocolate eggs then—and that was the
big festivity of the day.

I remember another time. It was Christmas Eve 1902. Mama came
in from the shop carrying the few Christmas things. She had several
sheets of coloured paper which she then cut into short lengths. With
flour made into paste in a delph jam jar, we all got to work sticking

NORA CONNOLLY OBRIEN

187

coloured streamers together. These were suspended from the remains
of a chandelier that had hung in the centre, reaching into the four
corners of the room. From the chandelier itself she hung a Chinese
lantern, one of the inexpensive paper lanterns that one used to get.
The streamers, the paper lantern and a red candle glowing in the
window, made the ordinary room into something colourful and grand.

Pork was cheap in those days. She would get half a leg for our
Christmas dinner. The bone would be taken out and she would stuff it
so that we would have stuffing like everybody else. A plum pudding
was prepared earlier in the day. Then she would call each of us to stir it
and to make a wish which we kept very secretive about, except that I
confided mine to Mona. I wished Daddy would arrive home. / did too ,
said Mona. Then that makes three of us, I said, because I am sure Mama
did also.

Stockings were then hung upon the mantelpiece and the next
morning, daddy still not having arrived, we hastened off fasting to
Holy Communion. Mama never came with us then. It was only years
later that we learned why: she was Protestant and we were Catholic.
When we came back, she gave each of us a little glass of wine, port
wine, which she had received in a small gift hamper from the grocer.
That was the practice in those days. The grocer had been receiving
regular money orders from her, which daddy sent from the States.
With the bottle of port w ine, came also tea. sugar, barmbrack. biscuits
and dates.

When eventually daddy did come home a few days later, he made it
all up to us. He brought a book about China for Mona, a history of
America for me. Indian moccasins for Aideen, a ball for Ina and a doll
for Maire. We felt it was a second Christmas.

Wherever we were, daddy could write with us playing all around
him. I don't know how he did it, or how he preserved his precious
library through thick and thin. We could play or argue, he never
seemed to notice. Only when Mama tapped him upon the shoulder
would he awake to reality.

Travelling with Daddy

Daddy was going to Scotland and I was thrilled to hear that I
would be going with him. I was then only eight. Mama bought me a
lovely cashmere coat with applique lace and a pair of shoes with little
diamonds embossed upon the toes. All my shoes up to then had been
bought secondhand in Patrick Street market, a traditional market
which lined all the side streets there before the Iveagh Buildings and
the park were created. I have no doubt that the coat was well beyond
her means but she evidently made the effort to have me turn out

IS#

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

respectable before daddy’s people. It was April, 1902. The crossing
from Dublin to Glasgow was windy and wet. Inevitably I became very
seasick though I managed to preserve my precious coat, frock and
shoes. In the morning we arrived in Glasgow and travelled by train to
Edinburgh. We went up this street, and knocking upon a door, daddy
lifted me to kiss a tall man with a red beard. Do you always kiss
strangers? he said, smiling. It was my grandfather. I stayed with him for
some days, after which I went to my Aunt Margaret, with whom I
remained until daddy's return.(3)

Daddy ran twice in municipal elections for the Wood Quay Ward,
the second time in 1903, after his return from his first visit to America.
(The fragmentary organisation of the Irish Socialist Republican Party
and of a"paper — Workers' Republic — that appeared infrequently
were insufficient against the massed ranks of the Irish Party’s United
Irish League, the Church and the publicans of the area. He received
only a few hundred votes, well down on his previous effort). There is
no end to the lies and terrible things they said about me, he told Mama.
They said / sent the children to a Convent school as a blind.

America

(There was another more serious reason for his disappointment.
The funds he had collected on his twelve-week tour of the States, and
which he had mailed regularly to the I.S.R.P. offices had been
dissipated in making good the deficiencies of the drinking club
attached to the I.S.R.P. rooms, an attachment heartily disliked by
Connolly. These funds had been collected from well-wishers to
support the Workers' Republic and to place it upon a proper footing,
and of course they expected to have the paper mailed to them. The
paper had had an irregular life — it was supposed to be a monthly —
since 1898 when it was founded. Connolly was the editor and main
contributor. He printed it, folded it and to a great extent sold it
himself. In this he was assisted by Tom Lyng. his brother Murtagh, the
three O'Briens, Tom, Dan and William, John Carolan and Jack
Mulray. all of them little more than boys. They formed the backbone
of the party, such as it was, with its two branches, one in Cork under
Con O’Lehane, and one in Belfast run by Alice Milligan’s brother,
Ernest.

Although Connolly had not exactly fallen in love with America
during his visit, the patent fact that in six years he had made almost no
progress in Dublin, combined with the gruelling poverty of their
existence, must have been a strong motivation for his departure. He
sailed in September, 1903, leaving his family to travel a year later.
Tragedy struck them a few days before leaving Dublin. Mona, the

NORA CONNOLLY OBRIEN

189

eldest child was badly burned in an unhappy accident and died
painfully a day later. Her father of course knew nothing of this until the
little group appeared on Ellis Island.

Meanwhile he had obtained a job as a collector of insurance
premiums. During the six years of the family's residence in the United
States, despite many ups and downs, their standard of living was
incomparably better than anything they had experienced in Ireland
even after their eventual return. But he continued to be lonely after
Ireland, not in a sentimental way, but for what he considered to be his
life's objective there, the advancement of socialism. In July, 1910,
after receiving an invitation to return to work with the Socialist Party
of Ireland, he once more came home to an economic future almost as
unpredictable as the one he had left. Eight months later his family
followed.)

We lived very comfortably in the States. We had amenities there far
beyond the dreams of a Dublin worker. We stayed first in Troy, an
industrial suburb of New' York, then New York, then Newark, N.J. I
saw the apartment house we lived in in New York only a few years ago
when I was there. It looks still as respectable and as well maintained as
it did then. In Troy and Newark we had a house, and of course we
much preferred that.

I was barely fourteen when I decided to look for work. I saw how
strained things were at home; I knew' that if I could get a job I could
contribute. Mama was really magical the way she could put up meals.
There was a monotony about them, I suppose, if you look upon them
from the point of view of grown-ups, but we enjoyed them. We always
ate together. We had breakfast together. Lunch consisted of
sandwiches eaten in school; then in the evening time we waited until
daddy came in to have our dinner. Every Friday she made a great
potful of potato soup. It was thickly flavoured and gorgeous. I have
never had anything like it since. After that we had a steamed pudding
with marmalade sauce, or we had sultana pudding, or a pudding of
chopped peel. She used to use apples and macaroni together. They
made a lovely dish. (Earlier when she was in Dublin, hearing that the
water was deficient in lime, she rigged up a large cask filled w ith lime,
through which she circulated water; every morning we each drank a
glass of lime water from it.)

While I was in New York. I accompanied daddy to almost all his
meetings. I felt it was so important to know what was being discussed,
to hear the different viewpoints put forward by the other socialists. He
would patiently explain the finer points to me. He was training my
mind, seeing that I would not turn out a vegetable. Every now and
then, he would bring home a book. / think you will like that , Nora.
Because he said “I think you will like that", I read it. I read it carefully

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

190

because I knew he would ask me questions about it. He always
returned to it. Did you read that book? And I would say I did, but that I
could not follow one particular aspect. He would sit down: Let us pick
it up and read out what you could not understand. He did that all the
time. Whenever he was at home for the evening, he would read stories
to the lot of us as soon as we had our homework done. He might be
sitting at the same table writing an article for the Weekly People, The
Socialist, The Industrial Bulletin , organ of the Industrial Workers of
the World, and others, as well as letters to the papers of what are now
called ethnic groups, the Italians, Germans and others, as well as a big
number of pamphlets. He could break off at any time to talk and
discuss matters with us and just as quickly resume. I have a great
concentration myself, but I have never seen concentration to equal his.
Have you got your homework done? he would say. Alright now, / will
read you a story. And then he might read for us The Reds of the Midi,
an entrancing story of the French Revolution. Bedtime might come
and it would not be finished. We would be on tenter-hooks to hear the
rest of it the next night. I do not remember any more of these stories
except that they were historical and all had a social background.

Socialist Politics in America

He had helped to form the Irish Socialist Federation, the organ of
which was The Harp, in the home of Elizabeth Gurley Flynn’s parents
in the Bronx. The Harp was printed by J. E. C. Donnelly, who came
from Donegal, and it laid great stress upon Irish affairs, that is affairs
back home in Ireland. Certain socialists there took exception to such
“nationalism", but daddy held that if one cut oneself adrift from one’s
own national affairs, if one actively opposed their culture and religion,
then one was destroying the bridges on which one might bring
socialism to them. The Irish people are, in the main, amenable to the
international Roman Catholic Church; why then do they not welcome
the politics of international socialism? he would ask.

I went to many of these meetings as a tail to my father; one night I
persuaded one of my friends to come along too. but I am afraid after
one outing she thought us too dull and never came again.

In 1908, he finally broke with the U.S. socialist leader Daniel
DeLeon, who had proved a virtual dictator. While in some ways a
great pioneer, he was also one of those political prima donnas; you
either had to accept completely his political direction or he set out to
isolate you. Daddy finally saw how barren this policy was. He then
switched the support of his newly founded Irish Socialist Federation
and The Harp to the trade union known as the Industrial Workers of
the World. They were influenced more by a syndicalist approach —

NORA CONNOLLY O’BRIEN

191

that is trade unionism devoid of politics — than the conventional
Marxist approach. (The hope of the leaders, accorking to Levenson,
'Big Biir Haywood, Joseph J. Ettor, Arturo Giovannitti, Vincent St.
John. Elizabeth Gurley Flynn and others, was to organise and unite
the proletariat into industry-wide unions — not craft unions — thereby
displacing the class-oriented craft unions already existing. Eventually
all workers, by downing tools, would bring the capitalists to their
knees.)

The Industrial Workers of the World encouraged the creation in
each country of similar unions in the hope that they could all come
together and form a great voluntary federation. It never came to that
of course. My father worked out carefully how branches should be
formed and how they should maintain contact with each member.

In 1910 he was invited to return to Ireland on a short speaking tour.
There seemed also a likelihood of bringing the parties to life again.
When therefore he left New York for Ireland in July 1910, we knew
only that it was for a speaking tour in Ireland, England and Scotland.
There were no arrangements made for the family to return. Mama was
a little shocked therefore by the decision to return to Ireland. It was in
November it came: This is the fatal letter. / want you to come hack to
Ireland .... Fatal it was in more ways than one, but at the time I was
both delighted and excited when I heard that we would be going back.
It was the end of November, 1910, that we sailed second class — which
was a step up for us — for Derry. Daddy took us an a tour of Derry
Walls, telling us the story of the siege and of how the Pope then
supported William. In the afternoon we took our seats in the Great
Northern train for Dublin. Three and a half hours later, as darkness
drew in, we alighted at Amiens Street, and hoisted ourselves aboard
one of the cabs standing there.

In IRELAND: BELFAST

It was to a house on South Lotts Road, Ringsend. that we came. The
cab stopped at the house. Across the lower half of the bay window an
American Hag was hung. Behind it in the shadows, danced the rosy
lights of a fire. Women members of the Irish Socialist Republican
Party had prepared the house, lit the fire and made ready a lovely tea.
It was approaching Christmas and Mama's heart was raised at the
warmth of the welcome. It had made home-coming worthwhile.
However it was not long until the reality of Irish conditions hit us. I was
unable to get a suitable job in Dublin so I went to Belfast, where I got a
job in a factory making blouses.

The funds that had been collected to support daddy’s lecture tour
ran out quickly so he also had to take a job. He was appointed

192

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

organising secretary of the Irish Transport and General Workers’
Union at their offices at Corporation Street, Belfast. The office was
located near the docks area, and was a dingy enough little place. A
Dublin based union like the I.T.G.W.U. did not have many members
in Belfast and most of those it had were among the lowly paid
Catholics. The shipyards and the big engineering works were
dominated by cross channel craft unions who were not concerned with
creating a genuine non-sectarian socialist society. The conditions of
work of the unskilled and unorganised dockers at that time was
absolutely miserable. I can remember years later, accompanied by
Peter Reilly, being met by this fine tall man in the same locality. This is
a daughter of James Connolly , said Peter. He reached out for my hand
and held it tightly for a while. I looked up at him. The tears were
running down his cheeks. We can never forget your dad t he said. He
came here and found us on our knees. He helped us to our feet again,
while at the same time he taught each of us that it was our right to have a
job. He continued to hold my hand. Through me, he seemed to feel
that he was in some way still linked to James Connolly.

When we arrived in Belfast in 1911, we got a house near the top of
the Falls Road. Girls of fourteen rushed then to find jobs on leaving
school. My mother accompanied daddy to our new home in Glenalina
Terrace. It was her first time in the North, but because she did not go
out very much, she was almost unaware of the deep divide in the
community. Of course nowadays no one at all goes from the south to
live in Belfast. So you could say the gulf has widened even more than it
was then.

1913

I must tell you now about the time in 1913, when daddy went on
hunger-strike. By this time we were all back living in Dublin and we
were in the throes of the great lock-out. It had begun with the walk-out
of the tram men during Horse Show Week in August. It spread
because William Martin Murphy, who controlled the Dublin United
Tramways Company, the Irish Independent and other great
enterprises, persuaded the major employers in Dublin to insist on a
pledge from their work people that they would not join the Union
headed by James Larkin, namely the Irish Transport and General
Workers’ Union, whose headquarters were at Liberty Hall. (Connolly
was arrested following a lively meeting in Bcresford Place addressed
by Larkin, himself and others. They were encouraging their listeners
to be present at a banned demonstration in O’Connell Street the
following Sunday. 31st August. This was the occasion when Larkin
appeared briefly upon the balcony of the Imperial Hotel — sited where

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

Clerys is now — wearing a beard and dressed in a frock-coat provided
by Count Markievicz. He went there, passing through a police cordon,
accompanied by Nellie Gifford, dressed as the niece of what appeared
to be a distinguished old gentleman. He had been made up by Helena
Moloney, who was. like Madame, a master of theatricals. Lower
O’Connell Street that Sunday morning was encircled by large squads
of police. They charged savagely when Larkin appeared undisguised
upon the balcony. As Count Markievicz described the scene: It
equalled the Moody events in St. Petersburg as scores of well-fed
policemen pursued a handful of men. women and children running for
their lives. Over four hundred civilians were treated in hospitals
following the charge and those of the night before. Two of those
batoned on the Saturday night died.)

On that Saturday daddy had been brought especially before Mr.
Justice Swift. / do not recognise the proclamation banning the meeting
(for the next day) because / do not recognise the English Government in
Ireland. He refused to give bail or to be of good behaviour and was
sentenced to three months imprisonment. Within a few days he went
on hunger-strike in Mountjoy.(4) When my mother found he was on
hunger-strike she was very much upset. She came to Dublin from
Belfast, while I was left in charge of our home there. She made her way
— not on a scab-driven tram I can tell you — to Madame Markievicz at
Surrey House. Leinster Road. She was advised that only the Viceroy
could order the release of my father. I'll take you there if you can walk
it, a mhdthair. said Eamonn Martin, who was present. He was one of
Madame's Fianna boys, having joined the organisation at its founda¬
tion in 1909. / can walk as far as I have to go. she answered him.
Travelling on foot from Leinster Road, along the Grand Canal to
Phoenix Park, to the present Arus an Uachtarain. it commenced to
rain and rain heavily. They were dripping wet when they reached the
gates. They were admitted into an ante-chamber and after a short time
the Viceroy himself. Lord Aberdeen, entered. / am Lillie Connolly,
the wife of James Connolly who is on hunger-strike in Mountjoy: it is
within your power to order his release. My mother. I must explain,
never told me this story, but Eamonn Martin, who was present for all
of it. confided it to me later. The Viceroy appeared quite sympathetic
but before he could make a response. Lady Aberdeen appeared. She
had always taken an interest in the health and social conditions of the
Dublin working people, being particularly concerned about T.B. and
infant mortality rates. When she saw my mother, she rushed towards
her: Oh my dear, take off your coat and place it beside the fire. Now
what is it you want? I want my husband released. You must do that for
her. said Lady Aberdeen, turning to the Viceroy. / have already
decided to direct his release, said he. A carriage was summoned while

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

Lady Aberdeen continued to chat to my mother, now greatly awed by
what she had done. Meanwhile presumably, the Viceroy had spoken to
the Castle and the prison authorities. As my mother thanked him
profusely, he bade farewell. Your husband is in no danger, he said. (He
had been seven days on hunger-strike at this time.) The coach then
drove the short distance to North Circular Road and was quickly
admitted into the prison. A missive was passed to the governor
whereupon, after a short delay, my father appeared. When however
he saw the coach he refused to get into it. However Mama was
insistent. You could get pneumonia. And so James Connolly was
driven from Mountjoy Prison to the home of Madame Markievicz in
the Viceregal coach; it was surely one of the oddest processions
ever.

We had had no experience of the effect of hunger-strike at that time.
While seven days may seem nothing now. at that time some strange
stories were told of the effect it could have upon the brain and parts of
the body after only a few days. It had none of these effects upon daddy
of course. He was hardly settled in jail a day when he was sending out
messages for the Labour newspapers and for Irish text books. He had a
good working knowledge of Irish in the written form but had no
opportunity to learn to speak it. He had hoped to make up for this in
prison, but of course he was not there long enough for that. He had a
good speaking knowledge of Italian and had used this to great
advantage during his crusading days in New York.

He had been released under the recently enacted “Cat and Mouse
Act” which enabled the authorities to imprison persons again when
they were restored to health. He remained in bed in the small room,
used as a dressing room by Count Markievicz, for two days after w hich
he returned to Belfast. He had wired Nelly Gordon to arrange a
suitable non-sectarian demonstration as a gesture of labour solidarity.
When I arrived therefore in Great Victoria Street, where the station
then was. from our home at Glenalina Terrace, I found a great throng.
There were hundreds about, though to me they seemed like
thousands. I had to fight my way in. Finally a man led the way for me.
We are all here , he said, to welcome General Connolly. That was the
first time I had heard him referred to in that way. It may have arisen
from the now widely proclaimed desire to “arm the workers", though
that had not yet been responded to.(5) He was placed upon an outside
car. and the throng departed for the Union rooms at Corporation
Street, where a speech was called for. However daddy felt unable to
make a proper address. He therefore thanked them all for the
solidarity they were showing, and took his leave. It was not the sort of
demonstration one could mount nowadays in Belfast. But his job was
to trv to reach all of the workers even though at times it proved

NORA CONNOLLY OBRIEN

IMS

difficult. He always spoke strongly against the Orange lodges for
splitting the workers and keeping them in a had position. Why do you
not address yourself also to the Hits? said one. When / am in Dublin /
do that , (6) he told them. Their viewpoint is in power there , but it is the
Orange Order that ndes the roost here , which is why / must constantly
attack it. He knew well that bigotry was rampant in Belfast. I had seen
the Islandmen chase Papish youths through the streets. None of us had
any illusions about it.

Remember Bachelors Walk

We saw the new' Volunteer army as an ally, a force that would aid the
Citizen Army. They were founded on November 25th, 1913, at the
Rotunda, a fortnight after us. They grew quickly because they were
intended to be a nationwide force, while our main concern was to resist
police and military brutality in Dublin. Daddy was away, so 1 went
there accompanied by Eamonn Martin. Four thousand enrolled the
first night. The Ulster Volunteers had been founded in the North by
Carson, with the declared purpose of obstructing Home Rule, which
we all believed to be a certainty. They were supported by the English
Tories playing “the Orange card” and by the British military
establishment. We did not expect the Volunteers or the Citizen Army
to have the same favouritism extended when it came to arming
them:(7) nor was it long until our suspicions were confirmed.

I shall tell you now about what happened after Bachelors Walk on
that Sunday 26th July (1914) when the soldiers fired at the people,
killing four and wounding many more. It was the aftermath of the
landing of the guns at Howth. Twenty of the guns were brought bv Joe
Robinson to the cottage on Three Rock where Aghna and myself were
waiting with Madame. We were worried that this might have been
observed by a retired police sergeant who lived nearby. Later that
evening, we conveyed them to a safer hiding place in the city. We went
there by taxi with us girls sitting on top of them.

Two days later came the funerals, the service being held in the
evening to allow as many workers as possible to be present. Remember
this was only five months after we had been “beaten” in the great
strike: we wanted to show them how beaten we really were. All the
previous day we had been working with Fianna boys arrd the Cumann
na mBan girls, making wreaths in Surrey House in Leinster Road,
Madame’s home. Simple wreaths were made into elegant bouquets
from evergreens and ribbon, encircling flowers collected from local
shops and gardens by the boys. We carried them by cab to the Pro
Cathedral, off O'Connell Street, where the coffins had waited
overnight. I have never seen Dublin so deeply stirred as it was on

I ‘>6

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

the day those funerals wended their way up Parnell Square to
Glasnevin Cemetery. The youngsters and people from the teeming
tenements lined the streets while thousands marched behind. There
was not a soldier to be seen. The authorities had withdrawn them to
their barracks. Surely now , I thought, the world will know that she
holds us hv force and that she would rather destroy and kill us than allow
us to go free. But the world did not have time to show its care. We were
on the edge of far greater carnage than anyone could have dreamed
about.

Con and Eva Gorf Booth

The Ard Fheis of the Fianna was always held in the week following
July 12th: since that was a holiday in the North, it suited the youngsters
to go to Dublin for it. They spent that week, a real rebelly horde they
were, camped out around her cottage on the slopes of the three Rock.
Madame herself was respected and loved by us.

Her sister Eva. tired of being the squire’s daughter, had earlier gone
to Manchester where she took part in the Suffragette movement, and
was instrumental in campaigning to improve the conditions of the
barmaids and textile workers. She supported us by speaking in Dublin
during the 1913 strike, which at the time wasa very courageous thingto
do.

American Journey

I was nineteen and the war was on four months, when my father
asked me to take a message to America. Commit it to memory, he told
me. He crossed with me to Liverpool, where we caught the boat to
New York. On the dockside waiting for me was John Brennan (Sidney
Gifford) and Jim Larkin. He was expecting mv father and was visibly
disappointed to find me instead.

I do not tell this story however, as I promised the leaders that I never
would divulge it. When anybody asks what did you do? I never say,
even though all those connected with it are now dead. I transacted mv
mission alright and returned again many weeks later on the Lusitania
to Queenstown. How happy I was to be back: I counted every clippety
clop of the train home to Dublin. Daddy was overjoyed as he escorted
me into Liberty Hall where I sat down in front of Madame. Sean
MacDiarmada and Tom Clarke. It was my first time to meet what was
to be the Military Council of the Rising.

I had met Roger Casement in New York and I had received letters
from him for posting in Ireland. The next day I returned to Belfast
where Mama still resided.

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

197

The Workers Republic

Daddy had been publishing the Irish Worker as the voice of our
union from 1911. Then in December 1914, with the new powers
conferred by the wartime situation, the Castle authorities suppressed it
along with Sinn Fein and Irish Freedom.

Ireland distinct from her people is nothing to me, he had written in
the paper they suppressed. I was intrigued to know what note he would
strike in the new paper. I felt certain he would soon bring it out. It was
only a matter of time until he found a press and a place to print it. In the
circumstances that prevailed he could not expect a private printer to do
it. Mahons had been raided by the police and his type thrown about.
That was sufficient warning.

Ever resourceful he crossed then to Glasgow where he arranged
with friends in the Socialist Labour Party to continue it. That
arrangement could not remain a secret for long, and a few weeks later
in February the police seized the entire issue as it arrived in Belfast.

I here was nothing left but to beg. borrow or steal a press and print it in
the basement of Liberty Hall. Thus on May 29th. 1915, the day before
we celebrated Labour Day in the Phoenix Park, the new paper The
Workers' Republic appeared. It was to be vastly better, more fiery and
more courageous than its predecessor. It was printed on an old
machine he bought in Abbey Street and installed in the kitchen of
Liberty Hall where he placed an armed bodyguard to protect the
printer operating it. On the masthead he boldly printed in English and
Irish that challenging statement of principle from Desmoulins: The
great only appear great because we are on our knees: let us arise.

The Citizen Army in 1916

Only 118 men took part in the Rising (out of a total complement on
paper of around three hundred); but before the day, my father had said
to them: Soon we will be going out and fighting for freedom. If there is
anyone among you who feels he cannot take part let him step out now. I
will have no hard feelings. Some did so then, and he allowed them to
remain rather than that they would feel he had lost confidence in them.
Some more withdrew in the week prior to Easter Week, but their
number was less then ten. In the event of victory, he told them a week
before the Rising, hold on to your rifles, as those with whom we are
fighting may stop before our goal is reached.

They had a factory going in the basement of Liberty Hall where they
filled grenade cases brought from a foundiyJocated somewhere else. I
cannot say where they tried out these things. They had route marches
every Sunday into the countryside so there must have been plenty of
opportunities. Michael Mallin was deputy commander under my

198

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

father. It was his task to lead most of the marches. There were always a
tew R. I.C. men — or Dublin Metropolitan Police they may have been
— tagging along behind. It was always Mallin's ambition to walk so far
that they would tire out the tail that followed them but I cannot say if
he ever succeeded. I doubt very much if he did. The I.C.A. men were
not as well-fed or as well looked after as policemen. Two years before
1916 he was already determined that there would be a military struggle
in Ireland should warcome to Europe. Of course, like Lenin, he hoped
that the socialists in Germany and other countries would refuse to
fight. He was very disappointed therefore when they all fell in like
sheep to receive their call-up orders to go out and fight against the
workers of other countries. If we do not guard our neutrality that could
happen again.

Liam Mellows

Liam Mellows, one of the best organisers the Volunteers ever had,
was deported to England in the week preceding Holy Week. He had
been appointed to lead the Rising in Galway. The Military Council
decided therefore that he must be spirited back. I was home again in
Belfast after bidding a fond farewell to daddy when Barney Mellows
came. The idea is to visit Liam wherever he is, and I am to change
clothes with him and remain in his place. Liam is to walk out with you as
the visitor; then it is up to you to go hell for leather hack to Ireland.

Liam was being deported that very day, but we did not know to what
place. Helena Moloney brought disappointing news. There is no word
where he has gone, but you must start tonight, she said to us, and reach
Birmingham, as a starting point as soon as possible. You will be met
there and given the correct information as soon as we hear it.

We departed from Dublin for Glasgow that night. We went on the
boat carrying the English repertory people who usually travelled on
Saturday night. We were dressed up to pass as actors as far as possible.
We were not terribly close in appearance but the idea was that Barney
and myself might pass as brother and sister. Helena Moloney had us
done up; I had a theatrical hair-do and a hat to go with it. We crossed
that night on the boat to Glasgow and made our way through
Edinburgh to Birmingham. We still had no clue where he was. After
six days impatient waiting in the friendly house there, word came at
last from Liam. He had arrived in Leek where he had far-out married
relatives. It was now Sunday, a bare week before the date I knew had
been fixed for the Rising, and I had a thousand important other jobs to
do before that. But it was the end of a nail-biting exercise With very
good luck, we might have Liam in Dublin again within forty-eight
hours. A car was hired and we drove to Leek in a few hours. I entered
the house with Barney. I gave Liam the message. He must leave with

NORA CONNOLLY OBRIEN

me at once as he had been appointed to lead the Rising in the
West. That leaves me in a difficulty , he said, when people find l am
gone. Lots of people think l am like you, said Barney. Let us exchange
clothes and / will remain here. No one outside will know the difference
for days.

After a few moments we left the house, leaving Barney behind as a
dummy for Liam. We returned by train to Glasgow. That night in the
friendly house, a priest came in with a complete clerical outfit for
Liam. When he had put them on, he looked the real thing. We
departed for the station where we caught the train for Greenock. That
is where the boat leaves for Belfast. This was our real testing time.
Would we both get through unscathed?

We shared the compartment w ith a number of northern dealers and
drovers. Liam and myself were not seated together. He sat, with his
face in a breviary in a far corner. The dealers ignored us to the extent
that, after a while, their voices rose in argument and disgust at what
they considered had been poor prices. Some strong words were
exchanged. One leaped up. Til he hanged , said he, though this is not
exactly what he said, if l bring any more bloody cattle to this country.
Then glancing over he became aware of the “priest”. Ah, beg your
pardon . Father . said he, touching his cap. That is alright, my son.
answered Liam. The remainder of the journey until we reached the
boat was quite subdued. We ascended the gangway accompanied by
them, which suited us nicely.

We arrived in Belfast about 6a.m. Most people were staying on for a
while. However I said to Liam: Let us go now. The police are due to be
relieved in another hour. If we remain we might meet some that would be
too alert for our good. So let us go. As you don't know Belfast / shall
direct you now. But I shall be closely on your heels anyway should
anything go wrong .

On our way to Castle Street, we did meet several police. Each of
them saluted Liam as he passed. // they only knew! I thought, as I
grinned inwardly. We arrived safely at Glenalina Terrace and I sighed
with relief as I closed the door.

The person in authority in Belfast at that time was Denis
McCullough. I went to him: Liam Mellows is here now with me; it is up
to you to get him safely to Dublin. That is excellent , said McCullough,
Dr. McNabb and myself are driving to Dublin tonight. Liam can come
with us. Have him at Andersonstown this evening at seven o'clock. I
went back to our house and wrote a postcardaddressed to my father at
Liberty Hall: Everything grand. We're back home. Peter, (my nom de
plume at that time). I knew he would understand, and being a
postcard, it would not be subject to censorship.

2(X)

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

Countermand

I was in charge of the couriers sent to the North on Monday
morning, with Pearse's final message to ignore MacNeill's order of the
day before and carry on as planned. We had returned from Co. Tyrone
on Saturday at midnight, having spent the day there watching the men
arrive from Belfast for the “manoeuvres". Now we were hastening
back, part of a band of couriers sent to all parts of Ireland, trying to
avert disaster, to countermand the countermand. As we departed from
Liberty Hall to catch the 10 o'clock train. MacDonagh was joking:
There you go (ripping . while we are going out in (wo hours to risk our
lives.

I felt really sad to be going a hundred miles from them and not
knowing if I would ever see one of them again. Pearse however was all
business. He showed us the Proclamation in order that we could learn
the important parts of it and repeat it as our password to those whom
we must try to persuade to come out. I sent Aghna to the home of Dr.
Pat McCartan. near Carrickmore in Tyrone. McCartan and Denis
McCullough(8) were the principal I.R.B. men in the North. I was
bitterly disappointed with what transpired. They both felt that with the
loss of the arms ship there was no hope of a successful fight.
McCullough seemed to have lost all courage. Fr. Kelly, who was at the
meeting, was urging him to support Pearse. but it was no use.

I sent the other girl. Eilis Corr, to Belfast, telling her to tell the men
there what Pearse had planned. If they would come to Dublin, she was
to accompany them, but if they did not, she was to remain in Belfast.
Originally they hoped to get a northern contingent down by train to
Athlone. My father had a promise from a sergeant-major of artillery
there, that he would bring out the big guns in their support. A
successful uprising in Athlone would have brought out the entire West
of Ireland on our side.

In retrospect of course, things might not have worked out so
dramatically as all that. None of us were thinking then in terms of
guerilla warfare. The decision to seize Dublin and the towns was the
right one and a brilliant step at the time, but the way the fight
developed afterwards was really the only way we could have
succeeded. It was marvellous. It was the only method that could win
success, the first and only success we have had against the British.

The Tuesday and Wednesday were gobbled up waiting for
messages, or in trying to make contact with those we had to see" The
precious hours and days were ebbing away. I spent all of Thursday in
argument with Pat McCartan in Carrickmore. The police had already
raided the homestead, and he was there only with his mother and
sister. The element of surprise is gone, he declared. A mobilisation now
could not succeed.

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201

I stayed there that night. Next morning, Friday, I walked the
mountain boreen toClogher where Aghna was. Half way there, I met
her cycling along, carrying her suitcase strapped behind. We went to
the little station at Ballygawley, where we stayed with Mrs. Walsh,
before catching a train the next morning, (Saturday) at five minutes to
six, that eventually brought us to Dundalk. I have told all of this in my
book(9) but I suppose you would like to hear it again. We had heard
about fighting near Ardee and we did not therefore expect to get
beyond Dundalk. But we were both determined somehow to get back
to Dublin.

All that day we walked the road from Dundalk to near Drogheda.
When nightfall came we went into a field and sat down in the shelter of
a clump of furze. We did not sleep; we just shivered the whole night
through.

At Drogheda station we tried again, but no luck; only military could
travel. It was Sunday now and already we could hear the boom of the
artillery in Dublin. At least that proved that there was fighting there.
Ireland had not completely failed.

As we hastened onwards, my mind grew frantic; somehow we must
reach the city. Throwing discretion to the wind, I flagged down this big
car. It stopped. Could it be military? I thought. But it was not; it was an
Englishman and he brought us to near Clontarf where we alighted. The
city now was deathly quiet. The boys are beaten, we were told when we
stumbled into the home of Kathleen and Margaret Ryan. They have all
surrendered and are prisoners. Your father is wounded and is in Dublin
Castle. We did not dare that evening to cross the city with military
patrols.

Next day we set out to reach Mama in the cottage on the Three
Rock. Our way led right through O'Connell Street; on all sides were
the gutted buildings. The walls of the Post Office however were still
standing. Well anyway, I thought, they will yet form a rallying place for
those who come after. We walked on through Rathmines, up to
Ticknock and to the cottage. Mama was there.

Sean Connolly

Sean Connolly, an actor in the Abbey Theatre, had been active in
the Irish Citizen Army since its foundation. He spent most of his free
time in Liberty Hall. Spirited and bold, he was active in all the route
marches and manoeuvres. A favourite saying of his on these occasions,
when leading a formation, was: One more charge boys, and the Castle is
ours. By coincidence or otherwise, it fell to him to actually lead the
group that Easter Monday, that was detailed to attack the Castle.
What a coup it would have been had they succeeded in occupying a

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fortress that had always rivetted the attention of Irish patriots. But the
force of twenty I.C. A. men that were available was hopelessly unfitted
for such a task. All the same, they penetrated the Upper Yard and shot
a sentry in the guard room. What they did not know was that, had they
fifty more men, they could have gone on and captured the whole
apparatus of government. Instead, soldiers from the barracks at the
rere in Great Ship Street, appeared, and Sean led a skilful retreat into
the City Hall and the nearby Evening Mail office, which they
proceeded to garrison. It was while hoisting the tricolour on the roof of
the City Hall that he was cut down by a bullet. He was one of our first
casualties in the Rising, although I always thought what a splendid way
for him to die.(10)

But though my body moulders boys.

My spirit shall be free.

And every comrade’s honour boys.

Will yet be dear to me.

For in the thick and bloody fight.

Let not your courage lag.

For I’ll be there and hovering near
Around the dear old flag.

The Parting

I used to think of it afterwards, how simple and innocent we were to
imagine that they would be treated as prisoners of war, that they would
not be shot. They will not shoot him , I said to Mama.

Then we found out where he was; confined to a room in Dublin
Castle. But we were not allowed to go there. Still we lived in hope.
Then came the first executions four days after the Rising ended. I felt
shattered. We were staying with the parents of William O’Brien. Both
he and Roddy had been arrested. What shall I say now to Mama? But
the regular litany of deaths could not be withheld after the first three,
Pearse, MacDonagh and Clarke, had gone. On different days after
that they went, sometimes singly, sometimes four. Although
wounded, we knew now that daddy had no chance. Sean
MacDiarmada, whom we thought of also in our prayers, would not be
forgotten by them. Nor was he. On the Sunday an official note came: If
Mrs. Connolly will call at Dublin Castle on Monday or Tuesday after
eleven o'clock, she can see her husband.

Daddy, mine, I called to him, as I stumbled into the room. A cage
held the bed clothes over the wounded leg. / have been courtmartialed
today, he whispered. I stared blankly, stung by the reality of it. The
Cause is safe now, he said, as Mama came to the bed. There was one

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203

more day left, and we got in to see him once more; through darkened
streets in a military ambulance, then into the Castle, up those stairs
again. I suppose Lillie , he said to Mama, you know what this means?
Your beautiful life, was all she could sob. Hasn't it been a full life. Lillie,
and isn't this a good end? Beckoning me, I put my hand under the bed
clothes. He slipped a paper into my hand; It is my last statement, he
whispered. Smuggle it out. Time is up. said an officer. Mama had
collapsed. A nurse was leading her out.

I moved slowly down alongside the bed, keeping my eyes upon my
father all the time. I was looking upon the face of the one I loved most
but would never see again. When I got to about half way, he suddenly
called: Nora, come here. I rushed back to him. Hope surged within me
and died as quickly. He put his arms around me once more and drew
me gently down to his head. He was not able to lift more than one
shoulder off the pillows. Then whispering in my ear: Don't be too
disappointed. Nora, he said. / am proud of you. We will rise again.

Cathal O’Shannon

Cathal O’Shannon was arrested on his way from Belfast at the start
of Easter Week to take part in the Rising. He had been disappointed at
the complete failure of the call out in the North. Accompanying him to
Dublin was an exile from Scotland called Breatnach, a Donegal man
originally, who had come over to take part in it. Both of them were
arrested on their way to Dublin, and as a result they were not able to
take part in the Rising.

O’Shannon was from Co. Derry originally. He had been an
organiser in the Irish Transport Union in Belfast and knew the North
intimately. It was a great blow to him when the mobilisation he had
arranged for Coalisland for Easter Sunday failed. He had been father’s
first contact with the I.R.B. when the War broke out in August 1914.
At that time, they were in Belfast. After 1916, he continued as an
organiser, then as editor of the Union paper. Watchword of Labour.
Politically the Treaty sent him off the rails, because the Labour Party
supported that settlement. He found himself in the same straitjacket.
Free Staterism can be a much worse straitjacket than Republicanism.
Since the Labour Party accepted it, they could then only oppose the
Free State on matters of economic policy. This in time proved the
futility of their position.

Archie Heron

My sister, Aghna. or Ina as many pronounce it, married Archie
Heron, a Protestant radical from Portadown. Although appointed

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204

eventually to a post here in the Department of Industry and
Commerce, he never lost his radicalism. Along with Daithi de Bhuidhe
— David Boyd, another Protestant radical from Belfast — they tried to
reach Dublin to take part in the Rising and were mad that they could
not make it. Archie came into the Movement through joining the
Freedom Club in Belfast. From that they passed into the I.R.B.

In later years Daithi de Bhuidhe took up journalism and ended upas
editor of the Waterford News. His stance in after years — he died
sometime in the fifties — was a completely neutral one.

Ernest Blythe

Ernest Blythe was a great disappointment to me because he came
into the Movement through the Freedom Club also. He was a
journalist, but he gave up his job and went to Kerry and took work
there as a farm labourer in order to learn Irish. I thought that was a
wonderfully sincere gesture. Anytime he was in Belfast, he came to
our house at Glenalina Terrace and stayed as long as he could. He gave
an address to the Fianna at Mac Arts Fort on Cave Hill during the
Wolfe Tone Anniversary in June 1915: Pledge yourselves to fight for
the independence of Ireland and never desist until she is free, he told the
boys. But he did not follow that himself. He managed to avoid any
involvement in the Rising, and later on he supported the Treaty.
Throughout that period and in the years afterwards, he made some
bitter and rancorous statements about the Republicans who opposed
it.

I was very fond of him and mother was too. After the Treaty, he
never came to see us again. I suppose he understood that he would not
be welcome. I never saw him then for decades until one evening that
Seamus and I went early into the old Abbey Theatre, where we got two
seats a few rows back from the front. Blythe was then, and he had been
for years, a director of the place and always attended the
performances, sitting in the very front row. During an interval, he
happened to look back, recognising us. Oh hello, he greeted us, are
you here? Of course we had to recognise him. With the people all
around we could not do otherwise. However that is the only time since
1922 that I had spoken to him.

Sean Lester

Sean Lester was another one of the Protestant crowd that came into
the Movement in the North. He worked as a journalist there, before
coming to Dublin where he was employed in the old Evening Mail. In
the late twenties, he was appointed League of Nations’ Commissioner

NORA CONNOLLY OBRIEN

205

in Danzig where he had a hard time standing up to the Nazis, who were
trying to take over that city. However they met their match when they
met Lester. Whenever he came home on holidays, which he did nearly
every summer, he called upon us before spending a fortnight in Carna.
He enjoyed bringing his family there.

Padraig Ryan, whom you ask about, was a Dubliner, brought up in
Clonliffe Road. He was an officer in the Fianna. Later he went to
Belfast, where he worked with McAleavey’s as an accountant.

A Propagandist in the U.S.A.

When my father last spoke to Mama and myself on the eve of
his execution, he implored her to return to the United States with
us. As we were all girls, except Roddy, he could not see any chance
of us getting employment in post 1916 Ireland. After his execution
therefore, we made application to the British authorities here
for permission to leave Ireland and go to America, but this was
refused.

I waited for a while then, trying to get a job here. We were in dire
straits. Were it not for the family of William O’Brien, with whom we
staved and by whose generosity we lived, I do not know what we would
have done. There were seven of us living in the O’Brien household, so
we were terribly aware of the burden we were to them. Yet we had no
money whatsoever, and no means of getting any. Daddy never had any
money to spare: the last few pounds he had in his wallet were taken
from him after his arrest.

I went back to Belfast then and I tried to get my old job back in the
factory where I had worked as a machinist, but they had no place for
me. The war was on and they were quite hard hit for work. I said then
to Mama: The only thing is for me to go alone to the States. It will cause
less notice and will he much cheaper. I would have to borrow the fare,
of course, but. with luck, a few weeks work there and I could pay it
back. And five dollars a week coming home steadily would work
wonders on the family food bill.

So I went to Margaret Skinnider. She had been badly wounded and
she was now at home. I arranged to give her address, to state that I was
born in Edinburgh —which was true — but I gave my middle name of
Margaret Connolly, and that way I got my passport without any further
bother. I had an Aunt Alice Rafferty in New York; I gave her name
as my destination. So with a single ticket and fifteen dollars in my
pocket, I set sail.

Arriving near New York, that August, I sent a cable to “John
Brennan” one of the Gifford girls,(11) and a sister-in-law of Thomas
MacDonagh and Joseph Plunkett. She met me at the quayside, and

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almost immediately I found myself whirled off as a propagandist. I was
the first out from the Volunteer side after the Rising. No one would
believe that I had come merely to get a job, and I was not going to be
given time to look for one. Immediately I was put on in Fanueil Hall,
the Cradle of Liberty, as they call it. That was the first place I spoke,
and it was also the first place in the States where my father had spoken.
I never thought I was cut out to be a public speaker, but these Irish
Americans and their friends wanted only to hear the story told in my
own words and they did not mind how often I hesitated. They hung
upon every syllable. I spoke to them for hours, and when I had
finished. I found an overflow of five thousand people outside, so I had
to address them too.

The Boston people then whisked me away to that city where I had
another overflow meeting. Next morning, the Rising, with pictures
was blazed across their front pages while the European War was
relegated to the inside. For the next couple of months, I travelled up
and down the eastern states; I was about to head for the mid west when
I was stricken down with appendicitis and the doctor ordered me to
stay off speaking for six months. At the suggestion therefore, of a
Harvard Professor and another acquaintance, the editor of the Review
of Reviews , I retired to Boston to do a University course in the winter
and the spring of 1917.

At the end of the six months, I started speaking again, in Boston,
Buffalo, Newport, Maryland, Philadelphia and many more cities.
Some of these were held before crowds of twenty thousand people,
without amplification. While I was staying with Patrick and Mollie
Collins in New York, John Butler Yeats came along one day. Viewing
the pair of purple stockings which I was wearing — coloured stockings
were then all the rage — he exclaimed: Oh, passionate legs! And then
he added seriously. I bow to the maiden who has obtained millions of
pounds publicity for the Irish cause, without extending anything but her
voice.

As a result of this publicity, a committee of eminent people was then
put together as a delegation to the Foreign Affairs Committee to press
upon them the case for recognising the Republic. This was a bit
far-fetched, because, although we were well received and treated
courteously, our Rising after all had failed, and our Republic was not
in being.

Meanwhile America itself had entered the War. Feeling that I could
not work now as effectively as I would like, and also a little homesick, I
applied to the British for a visa to return home. The official was quite
courteous: What will you do if we do not give you permission? I have
been asked to go on a nationwide tour , I said. If you permit me to go , /
will not speak here again , but if I am not let go, then I shall speak

NORA CONNOLLY O’BRIEN 207

everywhere / can. I think it is my duty in those circumstances , he said, to
send you home.

A Stowaway to Ireland

I packed quickly, took leave of my friends in New York and sailed
for Liverpool in the summer of 1917. Arriving at that port, imagine my
disappointment and annoyance to he served by a Home Office
official with an order excluding me from going back to Ireland.
Indignantly I wrote, without avail, to London; all I got from them was
a reply merely restating the position. A further letter conveyed the
view of the Castle authorities that it would be inimical to the peace of
this Realm to allow Nora Connolly reside in Ireland. Meanwhile I had
met Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington, who was excluded likewise. I was able
to tell her about “Mr. Murphy”, our man in Liverpool, who arranged
to stowaway those of us who were not allowed travel. She then
returned that way to Ireland, aided by Mr. Murphy, although she was
arrested and sent to Holloway, but allowed return to Ireland
afterwards.

Mv mind was now made up. I must stowaway too. I took a train
down to Mr. Murphy in Birkenhead. Could he find a place for me?
Indeed he could. At nine o'clock he would have two sailors coming in.
He was sure they could take me on their boat. They arrived shortly
after and looked at me. Dress up as a boy and we will take you , they
said.

Fortunately there w as a youth's suit in the house. The good suit of a
Waterford boy called Hicks, who returned to Ireland the same
subterranean way, was in Mr. Murphy's house. He would lend it
to me, and if I got across successfully, I could send it to young
Hicks. Everything fitted perfectly, except that the trousers were
too wide for my waist. Taking my scarf, I wound it around like a crios,
and with that I held up my trousers. Taking the cap then, I put my hair
up inside, carefully pressing down the cap, while at the same time I
gave it a stylish tilt forward. Looking at me. the older sailor, Mr.
Kavanagh, smiled; well it is a cocky young fellow we have with us
tonight.

We all waited a while. Then, not wishing to remain too long in
Murphy's house, we moved out and into a pub until it would be time to
catch the last train down. A bottle of lemonade was bought for the lad
while the men sipped a pint. Then reaching for their caps we made to
go. Arriving on the docks, by the last train as we thought, we were
upset to find that most of the blue blackout lights were still fully on.
Disconcerted though we were, we made our way along, only to notice
ahead a policeman with a light carefully scrutinising all who passed in.

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That has torn it, said Mr. Kavanagh; We will surely be caught. No. said
I; you walk on. / shall follow some distance behind, as though l am not
really with you. If I am caught, it will not affect you.

But our fears were groundless. The policeman called a cheery
‘Good-night' to the pair of sailors and then to me. Coming up to the
boat, however, we found that it was already pulling away with only the
stern end adjacent to the dock side. One by one, we all had to take a
running jump, but we made it, though I had to cling to the outside rail.
We went below then. I was shoved into Mr. Kavanagh’s bunk. It was
just as well. The ship had hove-to again and detectives had come on
board. It was a routine search, but nerve-wracking all the same.
Kavanagh climbed into the bunk beside me, throwing a couple of
blankets awkward fashion across him so that I was hidden. Once again,
however, all was well. The captain, quite ignornant of my presence,
swore blind that there were no stowaways aboard, and the two
policemen departed.

We were not out of the wood yet however. A message was
transmitted directing that no boats leave the Mersey as German
submarines were in the vicinity. There was nothing to do but lie there
quietly and wait. Eventually after more than twenty-four hours of a
cramped and tedious lie-down, the engines throbbed and we were on
our way to Dublin. Thirty-five hours after I entered the fo’c’sle, I was
able to leave it again. Waiting until everyone else had left, and dodging
the watch as he did his round of the boat. I alighted in front of my
beloved Custom House.

I accompanied Tom. the younger sailor, to his home. This is a
daughter of James Connolly , he said simply to his wife. She stared at
me, unbelieving, and then rushing forward, hugged me. Change your
clothes now , she said: and we will get that suit down to young Hicks.
Tom will walk you home. We had not far to go. Mama was living now in
St. Patrick’s Road, Drumcondra. Mama went white when she opened
the door in answer to my knock. She could not believe it was me.

I was there a week when the policeman’s widow, who lived next
door, called to Mama: Smith, the detective, has been here , she said. He
showed me a photograph of your daughter. / said, of course, that I had
not seen anyone like that about. It was clear that the Castle had not
forgotten me. I decided to go on the run.

r went for some weeks to Mrs. Wilson — she was one of the Gifford’s
— until her husband was taken ill with the great ’flu of that year. I went
then to Flemings on Drumcondra Road, where I stayed above the pub
for a few months. Feeling now that the chase had slackened, and that
the authorities had more urgent worries brewing, I returned home
again. All was quiet; there had been no further inquiries. I decided to
walk through the city which I had not seen since shortly after the

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

2(W

Rising. O'Connell Street had been cleared of its rubble, though a faint
smell of burning still pervaded the air. What really saddened me was to
see all those Union Jacks flying proudly from every mast and business
premises up Westmoreland Street and into St. Stephen's Green. Have
we accomplished nothing? I thought. Then turning. I crossed by old
Butt Bridge and past the still empty shell of Liberty Hall. Men were
working outside, but I felt too shy to speak to them. How lonely now it
seemed without Daddy.

Into the Struggle

In the campaign for the election, held in December. I was speaking
for a number of the candidates. I never expected that we would do so
well, that we would walk away with three-quarters of the seats, but we
did. We finished Redmond and everything he stood for. and whatever
the future may hold for Ireland, Republicanism will always hold sway
here. The victory was a spur to us. We now had a goal to work for. The
Volunteers were being re-organised, and soon the Hying columns
began to emerge. There was much secretarial work, travel and courier
work to be done. Much of this fell to me. But I did not mind. I knew
now that we could not be stopped.

The Labour Party were a great disappointment. You could say that
they just sat it out in their corner and did not take part. Three months
after the Rising, in Sligo at the Annual Congress of the
Party and the I.T.G.W.U.. they still could not summon up enouuh
courage to protest at the execution of two of their members, my father
and Michael Mallin. This is not the place to enter into a discussion
as to the right or wrong, the wisdom or folly of the revolt, said Tom
Johnson.

They did not take part in the 1918 election because they could see
that Sinn Fein was going to sweep the field. All during the years of
struggle, they concentrated on building up the bureaucracy of the
I.T.G.W.U. That seemed to be all that mattered. To Tom Johnson,
who. like many other Labour people, supported the Treaty. I said:
You are leaving us now with England, still at our throats to he fought; it
is they who hold our soil, not some sltadowv capitalists.

William O'Brien took no part in the struggle worth speaking of.
From now on. he applied himself to become solely a full-time trade
union official.

Cathal O’Shannon also took no part. Hcjiad been in at an early
stage: he tried to reach Coalisland. and then he tried to walk to Dublin
in Easter Week. Having failed in that, he settled down as an editor of
the Union Journal.

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When the ‘Pact Election' was announded after the Treaty in May,
1922, the Labour Party contested it, but from a purely pro-Treaty
standpoint. With the national forces irrevocably split, they saw it as
their chance to come in and grab a few seats.

1 was amazed and astonished when the Truce was announced. I am
sorrv about this, I said to Liam Mellows. We cannot hope to match the
British around the conference table. It is easy, I said, to order men to
stop fighting. It may be very hard if you want them to resume. The
British have their professional army, which thav can switch on and off at
will. We are not like that.

My heart had been in the struggle. It was a national re-awakening.
My father would have been overjoyed had he foreseen it. He thought
that, when they had failed, we were destined for another sixty years of
despondency like the Fenians after '67. That was why he advised
Mama to emigrate.

The Treaty ended our unity. What Ireland had never done before,
she now agreed voluntarily to do, namely to recognise the King of
England as head of our country. Throughout the negotiations, Erskine
Childers, although present, was forced into silence. He told me so. He
could make no contribution, Griffith had an absolute contempt for
him.

The Treaty was signed, and in the event it was accepted by the
people. Having been told to stop fighting, they could not be easily
made resume. Therefore we had no answer, no military answer that is.
to England's threats. Being a good listener I went to all the debates in
Earlsfort Terrace. I invariably sat beside Darrel Figgis who had been
busy on arms purchases abroad. Liam Mellows, who was Director of
Purchases, used often join us. Then his turn came to speak. He went to
the rostrum with that determined look that he reserved only for the
most solemn occasions. He made a marvellous speech: To my mind the
Republic does exist. It is a living, tangible thing, something for which
men gave their lives, for which men were hanged, for which men are in
jail. . . . Has Ireland been fighing for nothing, but to become like the
richer countries of the world? If so, that was not the ideal that inspired
men in this cause in every age, and it is not the ideal which inspires us
today. We do not seek to make this country a materially great country at
the expense of its honour in any way. We would rather it were poor and
indigent. We would rather have the people of Ireland eking out a poor
existence on the soil, as long as they possessed their souls, their minds
and their honour. This fight has been for something more than the
fleshpots of Empire.

It was so telling and logical, that I thought that surely now no one
could vote for it. But I was wrong. The Brotherhood(12) had got at
them and it was passed by seven votes.

NORA CONNOLLY O'BRIEN

211

After that, we began to slip rapidly into civil war. The Four Courts
was occupied in April, and I was often in and out of them. Liam and I
continued to be close friends. He seemed to think that I could give him
a fresh slant on events. One day he brought forth a tricolour flag. It had
rested upon the coffin of one of our heroes. Keep that, Nora, he said.
You may yet need to place it on the grave of another Republican.

Seamus and I had been married some months when the outbreak
occurred on June 28th. 1922. We had slept that night at Margaret
Skinnider’s and were awakened by the boom of artillery. Quickly we
hurried from Fairview to Barry's Hotel, which was a Republican
headquarters. There was confusion everywhere. I was sent in charge of
medicines to Tara Hall, which was in Talbot Street, while Seamus was
directed to go to a post in the Gresham. I sent squads scouring the
chemist shops for the medicines we needed. We did not always get
co-operation. A change that was plain to see had come over the
business community. Aghna. however, had done a course as a midwife
and she was now helping us. She went with the squads because she
could identify upon the shelves just what was needed and they could
not fool her. Everything was in large glass jars at that time. She would
point at one: take that. We got well stocked up with supplies. We had a
first-aid post at Tara Hall, though we did not have many to heal there.
One night, however. Free State soldiers came with one of their men for
treatment, and of course he was treated.

One day I went to the Gresham, which was now being bombarded. I
entered by a door and followed through holes in walls, until I came to a
room where they hoped to have a first-aid post. But we had not the
time or the personnel to set it up. I returned to Tara Hall. We had no
beds there: we simply lay at night upon the stage with coats thrown
over us.

We were there scarcely a week, when all the posts on the east side of
O'Connell Street were over-run and we had to evacuate. I did not
know where Seamus was. We had parted at Barry’s a week before. For
all I knew, he could be wounded or dead.

I left then, on the run now. to take up a post with our shadow
headquarters. Austin Stack was in charge of finance. Margaret
Skinnider had gone as his secretary but was arrested shortly
afterwards. I stepped into the gap. Seamus, meanwhile, had turned up
safely. We found a flat upon the top floor of Craobh nagCuigCuigi. on
the corner of Hume Street and Ely Place.(13) I was there only a few
weeks when we were raided. I had just completed copying records for
Stack, and had got them safely to him. when the Intelligence Squad
from Oriel House arrived. They searched our place high up and low
down, but although we had some very important documents, including
a money draft for £5.000 which I would have hated them to find, they

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came upon nothing except a ninepenny receipt for one of our fund
raisers. That was the sole evidence they had against me.

You had better get ready and come with us. We were brought to
Portobello Barracks, which had a sinister reputation. We were held
there a day. but at the end of it they came in and said to me: You will go
to Mount joy. It showed me what the new state thought of the children
of 1916. And you, they turned to Seamus, how would you like to go
there too? Oh, be God, I would. They called a taxi and we both went
together to the Jov. parting at the gate, he into one prison and I into
another. It was November, 1922, and we were to spend our first
anniversary in jail.

Aftermath

In August. 1923. Alex Lynn( 14) brought a case of Habeus Corpus on
my behalf, on the grounds that my arrest was unconstitutional. (It was
held in Dublin Castle as the Four Courts was in ruins). There was a
battery of legal talent arraigned against him. but he brought it off.
Judgement was given in our favour. Immediately the state lawyer rose
and sought time for an appeal. No, the prisoner will be released now,
said the judge. We recall what happened in another case, which we took
to mean the execution of Erskine Childers nine months before, and
which had taken place while an appeal on grounds of habeus corpus
was being served. As we walked down Parliament Street, away from
the Castle, the first editions of The Evening Mail appeared. The
newsboys were running, holding the poster in front of them: Nora
Connolly Free.

I could afford to rest now, and look back at the Civil War. We had
fought it poorly. Our hearts were not in it: Republicans had not wished
for it. When it was thrust upon them, they found that they had not the
spirit for it. They could not fight their own people. The first fiery
resistence became a long sad retreat, with the executions strung out
like milestones along the way. We felt beaten and deflated.

In October. Seamus, along with hundreds more, went on hunger-
strike for release. One day in November, w hen I was expecting no one,
a knock came. I opened the door and there was my beloved husband.
He had been let free. We were fortunate too. because we got the top
flat rightaway in Mama's house in Belgrave Square, to which she had
moved. You could rent a house in Dublin that time fora pound a week.
Straightaway, Seamus got a job with Movlett as a commercial
traveller, distributing sweets and confectionery lines. In that way we
avoided the grim aftermath that confronted most of the Republicans
when they came out.

Hoping to advance the cause some way, we turned now to the Irish

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

213

Labour Party. It had been founded by Daddy in 1912. so we thought
that it was the proper place for us to go. We tried to put life into it. but
we found it. even then, an uphill battle. Small wonder that I threw all
my weight behind Republican Congress when it was formed. With
Mick Price. I went everywhere organising it. We got plenty of good
young people. We had also Charlie Donnelly and Kit Conway over
from the I.R.A.. both of whom were killed in Spain afterwards. Cora
Hughes, a daughterof Tomas MacDonagh. and of course, all the other
names you know. We tried to reconstitute the Citizen Army from
dissident I.R. A. men. and we had companies of it in Belfast. Dublin,
Waterford and other places. But alas, it faded. I had such great hopes
for Republican Congress, only to have it spoiled in the effort to create
a bogus united front. The tradition of my life has been Republican: I
am a Republican and will always be a Republican. I could not tolerate
the idea of a united front which would not be Republican. We had there
the makings of a Republican Workers' Party but we wasted it.

So with Congress flat, with Frank Ryan gone to Spain and my great
friend Mick Price retired. I found myself on the sidelines once more.
With Seamus. I was running then a small branch of the Labour Party
here in Drimnagh. where we lived. Politically it was not an entrancing
prospect, trying to create a revolution through the Irish Labour Party"
Then in 1939 they submitted, under pressure, to the removal from
their constitution of the objective of a Workers' Republic. The Irish
National Teachers' Organisation, then a right-wing body, proposed
that the Party drop what had been my father’s burning objective all his
life. Anyone can call themselves a Socialist Republic, but with a
Workers' Republic you really nail your colours to the mast. We were
now however, in the aftermath of Christian Frontism. of the popular
reaction to the struggle in Spain. Our objective of a Workers' Republic
was therefore to be the first victim immolated on the altar of
expediency.(15)

I was not a delegate: I attended the conference with Seamus who was
a delegate. To the meeting and to William Norton, its leader, he
declared: Do this and you will forever remain as a small rump in the
Dail, undistinguishable from the other two reactionary parties. You
have killed the idealists in your party. There is no future in it for them.

We retired completely from it. and I have never since that time
touched the politics of so called Irish Labour.

REFERENCES

I Mona. (Nono): Edic; Aghna: Moira and Roddy in her autobiography Portrait of a
Rebel Father.

214

NORA CONNOLLY O BRIEN

2 September 1903 until July 1910. He spent three months there from September
1902 on a lecture tour sponsored by Daniel De Leon and the Socialist Labour Party.

3 Connolly addressed the May Day meeting in Edinburgh, after which he was in
Aberdeen. Falkirk and Salford. He returned to Dublin after a fortnight, bringing Nora
home with him. In June he returned to Scotland; he then went on a tour of England,
which included Oxford and London. At Oxford. Levenson says, a combination of
aristocratic students and plebiah scoffers gathered round the platform and began to sing
and shout. They threw stones at Connolly and threatened to tear down the red flag, forcing
Connolly to abandon the meeting after an hour.

4 Two months later, at the end of October. James Byrne, secretary of Dun Laoire
Trade Council, died on hunger-strike. At the start, it was not solely a Republican form of
protest.

5 It was in November — the same month that the Irish Volunteers were founded in
the Rotunda — that a committee met under Captain Jack White at 40 Trinity College,
which gave birth to the LC. A. See Desmond Greaves .fames Connolly.

b Throughout the years, Connolly courageously attacked right-wing and Catholic
ultras w hile in Dublin. His polemics against the Jesuit Father Kane of Gardiner Street
which grew into Labour. Nationality and Religion arc typical of that.

7 In September 1913. a “Provisional Government of Ulster” — at that time still
conceived as nine counties — was established under Sir Edw’ard C arson, later a member
of the British War Cabinet. In August Carson had lunched with the Kaiser at Hamburg.
In April 1914. 35.000 German Mausers and 2,500.(MK) rounds of ammunition were
landed at Bangor. Donaghadee and Larne from Germany and distributed openly. This
was less than four months before the outbreak of World War One. In comparison the 9(H)
rifles landed at Howth in July seemed puny.

S On that Sunday and Monday, McCullough was in Belfast.

9 Portrait of a Rebel Father.

10 A report in the Weekly Irish Times of the following week, describes what
happened.

The attempt to enter Dublin Castle was one of the most exciting incidents of the uprising.
About ten minutes past twelve noon, on Monday, a small party of Volunteers, with two
voung women in the rere, marched up Cork Hill towqrds the gates of the Upper Castle
Yard. They were fully equipped, as if for a long adventure. They reached the Castle
entrance, which was open, and guarded only by a policeman and a sentry. When the
policeman saw they were going to enter the C as tie Yard, he moved quickly in front of them
and raised his hand as a sign they could not come in. But the Volunteers were determined,
and did not turn back. They remained where they were for a few brief Seconds, facing the
constable. Then occurred the deed that revealed the daring object of the Volunteers. One
of their number, standing out in front of the policeman, levelled his rifle at him, and before
the unhappy man could draw his revolver, fired at him point blank. The constable stood a
second or two. to fall prone and lie motionless on the ground. A t the same time, other shots
were fired by the attackers at the sentry inside the railings and at the guardroom to the right.
Out from the path sprang a soldier with his rifle at the ready and bayonet fixed. He did not
come to close quarters with the rebels. The iron gates were quickly closed and the
Volunteers ' attempt to seize the Castle failed at this point. That they intended to do as much
harm as possible was apparent, for one of them carried a tin cannister, evidently made up

NORA CONNOLLY OBRIEN

215

as a bomb, and he threw it across the railings at the guardroom. His aim was good, the
bomb bad. It broke the window, but did not explode.

Scattering at the Castle entrance, the Volunteers — of whom there were not more than
twelve at the outset — ran down Cork Hill. Four or five of them went into the office of the
Daily Express (Evening Mail) at the corner of Parliament Street and Cork Hill. They
ordered the members of the newspaper staff to leave. In a few minutes the Volunteers were
in possession of the building. Their object in seizing it was to command Dublin C as tie, and
wage war upon it. For the same purpose a few others of the party ran up the steps of the C ity
Hall and climbed the iron gates which were shut on account of the holiday. The shop of
Messrs Henry James also was entered by a man, who, having broken the window,
climbed in and went up through the house to the roof.

11 Sydney. later Mrs. Czira.

12 The Irish Republican Brotherhood, which on the 10th December, 1921. threw
their considerable secret influence into the scales in favour of acceptance. Darrell Figgis
(mentioned a few lines above on page 210 and on page 55) was an unusual participant
in the revolution. An Anglo Irish man of letters with a prolific and varied output, he
was not free of rumour. He went pro-Treaty, drew up the Free Slate Constitution and
was T.D. for Co. Dublin. His wife shot herself in 1923, and he himself committed
suicide in 1925.

13 In the pre 1916 period, Craobh na gCuig Cuigf was much enlivened by the
presence of a member. Michael Rahilly. The O Rahilly. See the biography of Marcus
Bourke.

14 Alex Lynn, originally from Belfast, barrister and Republican of integrity. For
twenty years he addressed meetings and spoke out for political rights. Prior to 1909 a
founder member with Wm. O'Brien of the Socialist Party of Ireland. He appeared in the
twenties and thirties with Albert Wood in many HabcusCorpus applications. He retired
in the forties to Giles Quay, Co. Louth.

15 See Appendix, p. 413.

216

Tom

Kelleher

Commdt. General, IRA
1st Southern Division,

My father John Kelleher — I suppose I should start with my dad —
he came from a rather historic place, Kilmichael. right in the centre of
it. They were a farming community, very good nationally, followers
of Parnell. My mother was Mary McCarthy, from Knockavilla.
Inishannon. She shifted from there to Crowhill. I was born in 1895.
Somebody said to me one time where did you get your patriotism
from? I definitely got it from my mother. I said. She claimed
relationship with Philip Allen, one of the Manchester Martyrs, who
lived in Bandon. Tom Barry always called her Mary McCarthy. She
sprinkled him with holy water one day and gave him a bottle of milk,
when he was heading from the British.

I was not reared in Kilmichael however, but at Knockavilla,
adjacent to Upton. I was not really aware of the events that seemed to
move the other people you have been talking to. like founding the
Volunteers, 1916. or anything like that. I was not in anything until I
met Robert (Bob) Walsh. He took me on. He was the local organiser
of the IRA. That was the time of the big election of December 1918.
He gave me a couple of weeks to consider in case I changed my mind.
But it is stronger. I got in my mind about it. He told me the fight would
begin in a short time, and we are looking for volunteers. That is really
what we want, I said. Because we were let down on the last occasion. I
maintain the fight should have been got going down here in Cork as
well as in Dublin. Why should Dublin have it? We were all one brigade
at the time. We were very enthusiastic about procuring any bit of a gun
we could come at, and training. Training, training, all the time. If it
had not been for the training — anyway you know what Barry thinks
about that — we never would have succeeded. Eventually ! could strip
and assemble a Peter the Painter, and I blindfolded. We were well up.
We had plenty of ammunition and we trained at shooting all the time,
shoot to kill.

TOM KELLEHER

217

I remember on one occasion everything we saw was to be fired on.
We went to Inishannon, and there was a policeman, an RIC man.
standing at the door of the barracks. Harris, a great runner, was with
us. The policeman was facing south watching The road and the river.
His left arm was towards us. It was only the breadth of the arm. a hard
target at a couple of hundred yards. Hold on boys, I said. He might
turn round and face for Bandon. or he might turn this way and face the
chest towards us. Then I could have a go. Eventually he faced for
Bandon. I shot him through the arm and I grazed his heart. He had his
hand down by his side at the time but more to his back. So one night
they were in the pub after, the RIC men I mean, and they were
discussing this. One of them said, oh, sure they are only a lot of young
fellows those IRA. And the wounded man was there. And he said, what
are you talking about? Sure my heart war grazed, and the bullet went
right through my arm at that distance from the top of the rock. They
must be very well trained. They very nearly got my heart. That was one
incident from the struggle in 1920 — there was hardly a shot fired in
•919 — we had been ordered out in squads this day to find targets in
every part of the country, and we did.

Fan go foil! now. I fired the first shot in West Cork at Newcestown. I
have that there in the capeis, but I must tell you about it. What really
happened, an ambush was planned after Canon Magner was shot
dead, on the roadside by Auxiliaries from Macroom, on December
15th. 1920 near Dunmanway along with a young chap called Tim
Crowley. We went along to Farranloubas adjacent to Dunmanway.
That was the first time I met Jim Hurley. He was a tall strapping young
fellow, a great hurler. We were waiting for a cycling corps of British
and three lorries, and they failed to turn up. I don't know whether they
knew we were there or what. So we headed for Newcestown in seven or
eight sidecars. How we got hold of them all I don’t know. We would be
younger than the average IRA man, some of whom went to the local
pub for a few drinks. But we stayed put. We were at the ready.
Eventually the racket started. Major Percival himself came along
accompanied by his troops in two lorries. They were approaching
slowly. Sean Hales, who was in charge of us. rushed out. with only two
sections of men. and told us to get in position. Hell's fire, said he. that
was a favourite expression of his. Hell's fire, down on one knee. We
were on the road going towards Fr. Bernard’s house. There was a
Walsh there, an ex-British Army fellow. The next order was, take
cover on the right hand side of the road. Well now. the right hand side
was definitely the wrong side to take cover because you were
underneath the road, but if you went on the other side you would be
right up over them because the fence there was very high. It was a big
embankment there. But anyway he had to be pleased. There were
stacks of barley there. We lay there like bundles. Next minute Con

218

TOM KELLEHER

Lehane, who was a blacksmith in Bandon, asked Sean Hales, will we
fire on (he lorry? Hell's fire, why wouldn't we fire on it. A fellow by the
name of Con Flynn of Ballinadee and I went down nearer to where the
lorries were expected.

We got within seventy yards of them and we peeped out through the
hedge. It was lower here than where we were inside above, and it was
more suitable. What was passing in front of us but a common little cart,
two men with their legs hanging down in front and they going along
slowly and the bloody big lorry right after them. The first thing that
struck me was that the pair of you are in a very precarious position at
the moment. The lorry could not pass, and you would walk as fast as it.

I got ready. When the lorry was right opposite the main bunch back the
way, I flaked into the middle of it. That put the thing going. I got firing
two shots before the second lorry was right up in front of us. So I
emptied the rest of my gun into it. There was some of them wounded.
You could not see them, it being pitch dark, but I could hear them
tearing outside the fence as they tried to alight. What happened then,
but that our own fellows started firing from behind stacks, they had
retired to them — it was our first real fight — and I was caught between
them. I ran for the first stack. Who was behind it only Sean Hales and
he firing an odd shot out at the road. Why do we not get out on the road
and finish them, said I, Oh, fire away Tom, said he, take steady aim. We
might walk into a trap if we went out on the road. And 1 could not see
the sight on the rifle, never mind take steady aim. So we continued to
retreat towards the fence at the bottom of the field, each of them firing
the odd shot. Oh, here goes, says I, one fool makes many. I'll fire a shot
too, says I to Con Flynn, Oh, in the name of God, says Jackie Neill,
don't fire any more, you nearly knocked my head off.

We were not doing it right of course, but we had killed and wounded
a few of them, though we did not know it. There was a Captain
Richardson, a great friend of Major Percival. His cap was found inside
the hedge the next day, and half his brains inside it. There was not a
wounded man amongst us, except Jackie Neill; he got a bullet through
the sleeve of his coat. That was all. John Lordan was with us too; one of
the best men in Ireland. He was lost after. Anyway we continued over
towards a light we could see, and when we came fornenst it, it went
out. Oh, says I, the son of a gun is gone to bed. I chanced my arm by
knocking at the door. He came down quick again. Oh come in lads, he
said; he seemed to be backing us up. I said there was a scrimmage up on
the road and we ran into it. I didn’t let on. Oh, he said, the British are
gone: the British are gone. By the way lads, will you have a cup of tea?
We were delighted with that so I got out the frying pan, and he gave us
a great feed of spuds and bacon.

"it was dangerous to hang around, but the devil take us. It was
Sunday the next day and I said to Con Flynn, we ll go to nine o'clock

TOM KELLEHER

219

Mass, and we did: in the same place. Fr. Bernard was an old man and
he gave a big long sermon and we listened attentively. We came out
then. There was a crowd up at the cross so we avoided them. We went
off and picked up our rifles again.

We went to where the ambush was and what was there only biscuits,
biscuits, biscuits, scattered all over the road. An old man came along.
By the way lads this is a dangerous place to he. Repeat what you have
said, says I. This is a dangerous place to be, they could come out from
Bandon anytime. I should think it was a more dangerous place last
night, says I. and we all started laughing. By the way, says I. we want to
catch up with the attacking party. Have you any idea where they are?
Come up here and III show you, and he pointed north to Greenhill.
That was where our lads were located.

Anyway to cut a long story short. Tom Barry arrived late in the night
and he arranged that we would get into position in the morning, over
the same ambush, in case they came back. We waited for them. They
failed to turn up. so we struck for our place at Crowhill later in the day.

I remember well Mick O’Neill was digging potatoes with me. to
make the dinner of course — poor Mick was shot after near Bandon by
a Protestant man — and we had helpings of spuds, bacon and
buttermilk. It was easier to keep going in those days with nearly every
house flaithiulach agus arson na saoirse.

Tureen was after that, but I was not there. We had a training school
at Ballymurphy. I slipped and injured my leg and was not able to go.
But Tureen was a great fight. A lorry load of the Essex from Bandon
was nearly wiped out. and what were not killed had to surrender.

Crossbarry

Crossbarry on the 19th March 1921, was a great fight. One second
now. I want to mention one man, Commdt. Charlie Hurley shot dead a
few hours before the fight, at Ballymurphy. only a few miles away, and
yet his name is not on the monument. I was very disgruntled his name
was not put on top of the monument. The column could have been
wiped out only they heard them coming from the north, from
Ballymurphy.

It all happened by accident. There was a convoy of 300 British
military moving from Kinsale to Bandon. We were lying in wait for
them at Shipool near Inishannon. but they got to hear of it and decided
to round us up instead. We knew nothing about that. We moved off
into the townland of Skough and then northwards to Crossbarry. We
were particularly careful now because we were out of contact with the
enemy. I was instructed to move my section ahead of the main column
through the fields and at 1.00 a.m. on the 19th we arrived at Crossbarry.

220

TOM KELLEHER

We had no inkling that it was to be the morning of the biggest fight in
the war. Ill start by giving you the names of all that led the action
there. There was Tom Barry, the Brigade Commander, Liam Deasy,
the Adjutant, Tadhg Sullivan, the Quartermaster, Dr. Con Lucey was
Medical Officer. He was assisted by Eugene Callanan, then a student.
There was seven sections, each of fourteen men inclusive, commanded
by the following: Sean Hales, Ballinadee, a farmer, John Lordan,
Newcestown, a farmer, one of the best men in Ireland. Mick Crowley,
Kilbrittain, an engineer, Denis Lordan, Ballinhassig, myself on no. 5,
Peter Kearney, Dunmanway, and Christy O’Connell, Castletown-
bere. Florence Begley, who played The Men of the West on the pipes
inside Harold’s farmyard, completed the complement of 104 men.

Mick Crowley and I had no sleep. We were out looking for scouts,
but a good job we were. We heard the lorries leaving Bandon at 2 a.m.
They were coming and stopping, coming and stopping. Tom Barry was
in bed, fully clothed and on the alert. I know he said he didn’t go but
that is where he was. I said, you'd, better get up and get up quickly. They
are coming along very near. Great God they're not , says he. Is it the way
you want to get into the bed yourself? No , I said, we have a fight first.
They are coming along , coming and stopping. He got ready quick and
we made down the road. We were after coming from Brinny Cross,
halfway between Crossbarry and Bandon. We were locating our
scouts, all local men, strung out in all directions. That was our mission,
Mick Crowley and I. The lorries were still advancing so we had to hop
back lively. They were travelling slowly however, because they were
raiding as well. We could hear them distinctly coming in to Kilpatrick.
The night was very calm. A strange thing happened then. They
arrested a man there by the name of White. He was a prisoner, I would
say, in the second lorry. There were 24 lorries in the sweep. I had a
scout counting them. You had nine, seven, five and three. Of the first
convoy, the nine, only three got into the fight. A soldier in the fourth
lorry spotted a man with a rifle at a window, and the rest stopped. Tom
Barry used always criticise that man, but 1 clap him on the back
because if the nine lorries got in, the occupants of the nine lorries
would make a fight and we had only three sections there to face them.
We had Sean Hales, John Lordan and Mick Crowley. Three times
fourteen would be 42; begod 42 men could never fight nine lorries.
That was my opinion; Barry was of a different opinion, but 1 had mine.

The man, White, who was captured in Kilpatrick, jumped out of the
lorry as soon as it entered the ambush, got inside a gate, and there, a
rifle was put into his hand rightaway. He stayed with us after. Con
McCarthy, a butcher of Bandon, a great fighter was also with me. We
were away covering the back. Con was very anxious to know how
things were going, and he forced me hard to have a look. I knew it was

TOM KELLEHER

221

wrong to go down any road because I had the responsibility of my
section. Anyway we rushed down very quickly and we asked Mick
Crowley who was in charge of No. 3 Section.

We saw the driver of a lorry with his two hands on the wheel, and the
poor man, a British fellow, was dead. 1 put up the rifle to fire at him
because 1 thought he was alive.

We had howeverdealt with the column trying to encircle us from the
west. There was still about 600 men in the lorries approaching from
C ork, from the northeast. That is the group that came upon and killed
Charlie Hurley a few hours before. There was a third facing us to the
south along the Cork/Bandon railway line — not there now. They were
all under the command of Major Percival who. as General Percival,
surrendered Singapore to the Japanese without firing a shot in 1942*
He divided his men at O'Brien's Cross, a mile to the north, and he
lined the east and he lined the south, consequently making it half a
square. Barry had said to me, you will have the hardest fight this day
and he was right.

We were attacked from the north. I was just after sending two scouts
towards Driscoll's house which would be in line with O’Brien’s Cross
They were just north of Driscoll’s house, in a boreen, when they heard
them coming on at the double. They ran back and they took refuge in a
shed where they pretended to turn potatoes, the bloody rascals. They
had a right to send word back to mise, but they did not. By some good
luck at that moment I saw them myself. They were in a remarkable
formation. They were in bunches together, twenty five yards apart,
lovely targets for us. They opened up volley fire. The field we were in
was ploughed, and Jim Beasley, who was a very sleachtach farmer, was
after digging the furrow, so that it made cover for us. We slipped into
it . Prior to that I had been at the northern end with my men behind me.
Connie O’Leary was in the far half of the field facing east; he was in
charge of the other half section. 1 fell back to my section, because if
they took fright I would be without a command. Fire had been opened
on us, as I say. Bob Hales was in front of me and this fellow who was
shot in the ankle was just behind my back. In other words, and you can
take it this way, they were running away from the Firing. I got them
over the fence and I said: look here l have orders to shoot the first man
that runs. And then I said, we have two men in the castle —t’was a heap
ol stones, no more — and we have got to help them. The two. Den
Mehigan and Con Lehane. had been placed there specially to attract
the enemy around it. They were exposed before but we had cover now
going back helping out the two in the castle because there was a fence
on our right. When we got up across from the castle, we were in a grand
position without the British knowing it. Our two men in the castle,
once they had the enemy in line, opened up and shot two officers.

222

TOM KELLEHER

Grand job. They surrounded the castle, and to look at them, they were
like bees in a hive. You could not miss them. I was reinforced then by
Spud Murphy. I said to my squad: Get ready now, / am going to dish out
the orders. Section! Ready! Volley fire! I repeated that order, and then I
said rapid fire. Spud, 1 said. I'm going flanking . I wanted to get out in
the direction of the cottage before Percival could complete his
encirclement. We had a bit of a difference. You are in charge, said
Spud, and you should stay. You are quite right, I said, I am in charge. I
agree with vou. But when / am in charge you must do as you are told ,
and vou will stay here. He was no good for anything else being already
wounded in one hand. And you can't use a rifle with one hand.

I took two men up over a fence to the right where there was a big
long fence about 300 yards long. Jim Beasley had it all cut and drawn
away, as I say a very sleachtach farmer. Up we went and I decided we
would stay here. What did the British do? They came at the northern
side of the fence. And if they came over the fence they could enfilade
Spud and his men. Do you know what was beating them? They were
going according to plan. That is my guess. Every movement was
according to plan. If they had not gone according to plan but had
moved over the fence we would have been destroyed. Anyway I had
my two men. And I am sorry to say that they were not two good men.
The man on the left I don’t think he fired a shot. I had ten in my
magazine and one up the breech, that was eleven. I fired eleven and
eleven fell. I reloaded with five and five fell. I reloaded again and five
more fell. That was twenty one. That is gospel truth. Of course some
had thrown themselves down, and some were only wounded. I looked
left for my own man on the left. He was gone, and I have not seen him
since, and that is 59 years ago.

The man on my right had his rifle pointed away at the horizon, and
he pulling away, wasting ammunition. I stood back and I gave him a
toe up the tail. Can't you fire? I said, and he did. That fellow did very
good after. The next thing I got a tap on my left shoulder. Who is it , I
thought; Is it a British officer about to kill me? I wheeled around and
who was there but Barry. / thought you were wiped out, said he, lam
not wiped out. When are we going for their guns?

They were all lying down there. Now you could not prove they were
dead. Maybe they were not. But they were not able to get up. If they
were able to get up they’d have got up, and hopped it. They were laid
out there the twenty one of them. No, no, said Tom. We are not going
for their guns. We have more guns than we can carry including a
machine gun. Splendid, says I: I was mad for guns. Let us take the lot.
No. he said, we haven't time. And I didn’t realise time at all, but he did.
He had a weather eye cocked for the inevitable reaction from the
British.

TOM KELLEHER

223

That was a great thing about Tom Barry. He was more experienced
than we were. He knew the time to pull out. We’d fight awav like
billeo. but that wouldn’t win the fight in the finish. Where is vour
section, says he. I'll get them, but he wouldn’t let me move an inch He
sent a man on my left down a field and a half to get them. And the 21
dead men were lying there all the time. And we left them there too
rifles and all.

It was a wonderful treat to see our two men emerge from the castle
after being surrounded for an hour by hundreds of British. We moved
on to m v place in Crowhill. and we had a running cup of tea there. We
had a bit of an incident at a place called Wilson’s, on the side of the
main road. We were carrying Dan Corcoran on a door. He was shot
across the posterior and out the other side. A passerby asked him how
he was. Now this is something that maybe you wouldn't want to print. /
have three now instead of one, says he. in my backside.

The pluckiest man I remember in that fight was Dick Spencer of
Castletownbere. It happened where the cross is now. Corcoran lay
wounded. Dick Spencer came along and Jim Lordan with him. Jim said
to Spencer we must leave him there, the British are only fifty yards
away. But Dick threw him up on his shoulder and carricdhim the 400
yards up to the cottage. We were all relieved. It was late in the day and
we had not expected to see him again. Spencer was a lovely violinist;
not at all what you would expect. He could bring tears to your eyes.

Withdrawal

In a more detailed account on another occasion Tom told me of the
hazards of withdrawal in a countryside heavily occupied by the enemv.

Where is your section, said Barry. I told him that it was a field and a
half away and that it was still firing at the castle. There was by now only
intermittent firing from the area of the castle, and one of the men was
sent down to bring up my section. The column commander next asked
me where Raheen was. I pointed it out to him and after some thought
he agreed with me. It is interesting to note that an hour and a half later,
an auxiliary officer entered Cronin’s public house at Upton and
producing a map. asked Mrs. Cronin to tell him where Raheen was.
Both men. working completely independently of one another were
looking for the same thing, the highest point in the area. Raheen. 609
feet above sea level. The British were homing in upon us.

The column commander and myself moved closer to the cottage and
here the column re-grouped. We were on the Skeheenahaine road on
the western side of the square in which we had been almost encircled.
The northeast, east, and south were still occupied by the enemy. The

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TOM KELLEHER

fact that these forces had been beaten certainly does not mean that
they had been annihilated. It is my opinion that we could not have
withdrawn northeast, or south without suffering heavy casualties.

While we were at the cottage. Dick Spencer arrived, bringing the
wounded Dan Corcoran on his back. Soon after. Spud came with my
section and the reinforcements, and he was followed by the two men in
the castle. With a few other members of the main column, and carrying
the wounded Dan Corcoran, led by Barry, we set off through
Ballyhandle and Russell Hill and into Crowhill, my home. John
Lordan and myself acted as a flanking party.

Meanwhile Liam Deasy took command of the main party and Spud
took charge of my section. While the main body went on straight for
Crosspound and Raheen, we went along a narrow bdithrm which
offered very good cover and which led to Russell Hill. This bdithrm led
to the main "road from Bandon to Crosspound. We had no sooner
crossed it when we heard the sound of approaching lorries. Taking
cover we saw three lorries of Auxiliaries heading for Crosspound and
Raheen.

Having attended to Dan Corcoran, we continued to my home at
Crowhill" where we linked up with the main body. Here we had a
'running' cup of tea. My people and our neighbours, the Drews, had
suspected that we might call; accordingly, they had baked plenty of
bread and made preparations against a visit. Here. Tom Barry took
charge again, and Sean Hales’s section formed the advance guard.
Being a local, with an intimate knowledge of the area. 1 got the job of
directing the advance guard and column.

Incidently, it is interesting to note that the column commander
ensured that the rearguard would not get lost by placing Jim Doyle, of
Kilmore, who knew the locality very well, with the rearguard. This is a
good example of the way in which the column commander used the
local knowledge of the column members to maximum advantage.

Tom had thought of going straight north at the foot of Raheen. I
vetoed this as the country north of Raheen was wide open. How will we
go then , he said. A few hundred yards beyond my house, there is a
tunnel which will bring us into the next townland. He looked a trifle
sceptical. A little further on I showed it to him. It was actually a narrow
bdithrm, just the width of a horse and butt, both the ditches were 6ft.
high with the tops of the fences surmounted by thick furze bushes. The
narrowness of the bdithrm, the height of the fences and surmounting
furze bushes, which tended to grow outwards and intertwine, gave us a
perfectly camouflaged road. This route brought us in view of Rearour
almost a mile away.

Three members of the rearguard. Pete Kearney, Mick Crowley, and
Jim Doyle, had to race at the Crowhill side for the bdithrm, in order to

TOM KELLEHER

225

forestall an attempt by Crown Forces to follow us up the boithrin. The
main body of the column had just left our house, which was about four
and a half miles from Crossbarrv, when the rearguard came to grips
with a group of Auxiliaries. About four Auxiliaries were wounded. My
people saw the casualities being removed. It showed them that we still
had plenty of sting. These casualties slowed down the pursuit, the
Auxiliaries followed us at what could be called a prudent distance,
through Jack Murphy's boithrin and through the townland ofCrowhill
on up to the bridge at Rearour.

The boithrin was ideal for our purpose, straight stretches of maybe a
hundred yards alternated with successions of sharp bends. We
followed the boithrin into O'Connor's farmyard, past Murphy's house.
From here to the bridge at the foot of Rearour a passageway, with a
fence on the right and an open field on the left, led on. I was now with
the advance guard. Glancing to the left I saw' three lorries at Tough
Bridge. We took cover immediately, and watched them until the main
body arrived. When the column commander arrived he told us to go
ahead. We will deal with these fellows. We headed on for the bridge at
the foot of Rearour. followed by the column. The lorries headed on for
Ballinacurra on the way to Bandon. To this day. I do not know- if the
men in the lorries saw us; they may have and decided that we should be
ignored. Meanwhile, we in the advance guard, halted under cover just
short of this bridge, which, about thirty yards long, bridged a valley
and a small river. The sides of the bridge were composed of open pipes
and solid blocks of masonry, alternating with each other. I remember
saying to Sean Hales that the bridge, being exposed, could be
dangerous. Sean crossed first, and about half the advance guard had
followed him in extended order, when the enemy, who had followed us
through Jack Murphy's boithrin , opened heavy but erratic fire on the
bridge.

The rest of them crossed one by one. I followed bv throwing myself
beside each block of masonry in turn. As I threw myself into cover on
the far side. Sean rushed back down the road. Are you badly wounded
Tom? he said. He was surprised to see that I was unhurt, as. from the
amount of dust the enemy bullets were knocking off the bridge, he
thought I had no chance of escaping uninjured. After crossing, I
looked back to see if the main body was in sight: it was not. but two
goats which had been in the centre of the bridge when we came on the
scene, were lying at one end of the bridge, dead, on their backs, each
set of four feet propped against the other. In a day of odd sights, it
struck me at the time as being one of the oddest things I had ever seen.

I suggested that Sean should go up the road with his section. If the
enemy appeared, he could fire one single shot and take cover in the
glen on his left. I would bring the main body up that way. Sean took the

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advance guard up north through Rearour under cover. Almost
immediately, the main body appeared in column of route, Barry at its
head. I had. of course, moved away from the bridge, and the enemy,
who had it under fire, could not see me or the column. I halted them,
having told Barry that the bridge was covered, said, look at the goats. I
told him what happened and suggested that he ford the river on his left
and go up the glen. The glen, which was lower than the bridge, had
plenty of cover. I remember saying, when you get to Kellehers
farmyard . there is an avenue that joins the road on farther up — we can
meet there.

We rejoined and carried on straight over Rearour. which is a
townland with a sharp hil.l going towards the north and a fall to the far
side facing towards the north. At the bottom of this hill and at the end
of the townland. there is a crossroads called Athar na mBrog Cross.
Here a council of war was held. From here one road leads to
Templemartin on our left, the road we were on was heading towards
Cloughduv and Crookstown. A few yards further on a road led for
Aherla and Kilcrea.

The column commander was keen to get on the high ground south of
Crookstown. He was inclined to travel along the road to
Templemartin. When asked for my opinion, I was sceptical about this
suggestion. Your reasons , he said. I explained that a mile and a half
further on lay the main Macroom-Bandon road. I felt that the enemy
would be along this road, and that they might travel the same road as
us. I suggested that by taking the Cloughduv road, another 3(X) yards
further on, would give us a great chance of safety. At the end of this 3(X)
yards, there was a narrow road leading up to the right for Kilbonane,
on one side of which lay the Cork-Kilcrea-Farnanes valley. I may add
that Kilbonane is fairly high.

We had just turned up the road for Kilbonane when I discovered
that one of the wounded men had been taken to a farmhouse which was
on the road we had decided to shun. He had just been brought back to
the column when I saw two lorries of Auxiliaries trailed at a distance by
a third moving on the Templemartin road towards Athar na mBrog
Cross, recently occupied by us. We kept moving, and I was told later
by local people, that the third lorry was followed by another four, and
that the seven eventually halted close to Tough Bridge, a little north of
Ballinacurra. These Auxiliaries were the toughest fighters Britain had
in Ireland. They were all ex-officers; many of whom reached
commission rank during active service in the First World War. They
were a highly trained, intelligent and skilful force. At a time when a
British private soldier was paid less than two shillings per day.
Auxiliaries were being paid one pound per day, which by 1921
standards, was an incredibly high wage.

TOM KELLEHER

227

We reached Kilbonane at about 5 p.m. We went up almost to the
cemetery and mounted the short hill which entered the Aherla-
Crookstown road. This was the only road in Kilbonane. While we went
to the farmhouse on top of Kilbonane, arrangements were made to get
provisions from Aherla to supplement what the people had, and we
had another Tunning* meal here. We waited for an hour or two for our
great ally darkness, to come to our aid. Then, with full military
precautions we headed for Foley's Cross, on the Ballinacurra-
Crookstown road.

On the left of the cross there was a pub called Sheehy’s. We
approached the cross warily. On the column commander’s orders, men
from the Quarry Cross Company, who knew the area, were sent ahead
to scout. Maurice Donovan, the local company captain, reported that
English accents could be heard coming from Sheehy’s pub and from
the roadway on our left. The column commander and myself moved
closer and we could hear the English accents clearly. Maintaining strict
silence, the entire column slipped through.

Heading on for O’Sullivan's, Gurranereigh, in the parish of
Kilmichael, we felt that we had slipped through the enemy lines. At
O'Sullivan's we got a marvelous reception, and a strong party from
Cork No. 1 Brigade was there to meet us. This party provided a curtain
of sentries which guaranteed us safety while we were in adjacent
houses.

Siege of Rosscarbery

Nine days after that we laid siege to Rosscarbery Barracks. It was
the last strong point remaining in that part of West Cork. It was a
strong isolated building and the fight went on for half the night. We
had prepared a mine beforehand. It was about 4(X)lbs in weight and
four of us had to carry it. through the gate of the barracks, past barbed
wire and up a short avenue and leave it against the door without being
discovered or seen by those within. The careful placing of the mine
with its spluttering flame on a ‘slow fuse’ was the key to a successful
barracks attack.

A mile from the town we took off our boots and approached it in the
darkness in our stocking feet. Three sections of the column were
involved. Barry always asked for volunteers to lift the mine. On this
occasion he gave a short lively speech and said: / am not asking for
volunteers. I don 't know but I have come to the conclusion that it not fair
to an individual that he should say to himself yerra, I'll get killed , but
I'll volunteer and I II do it. That is hardly fair . Instead , said Barry, Til
name them. / think fellows would be more pleased when their names are
called out rather than to volunteer.

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TOM KELLEHER

The first name he called out was Vice Commdt. Timothy
O'Donoghue. He was a fellow about 6ft. 2ins. Apart from his guts he
was not suitable because he was too tall. The next he called was Lieut.
Kelleher; Pete Kearney from Dunmanway, was number three, and
Christy O'Connell from Castletownbere, number four. Let you get it
on your shoulders and be practising t said Barry, while I detail their jobs
to the others . When he came back it was mise he addressed. How are
you going on Tom. We are not going at all , said I. Dismiss the tall
fellow , and get some other man of our height. I'll chance it myself he
said. I don't think you'll do. He jumped and leaped at me. Do you
mean to convey that I haven't the guts to do it? No , no , said I, but I have
the impression that you never did much manual work. I would not have
a hope , said 1, of taking it on my right shoulder. Any load I ever took /
always took on my left shoulder. I'll manage it fine with one other man
of my own height. The big fella was on the far side of it a while ago and
he was driving the edge of it down into me.

Yerra. it was about 4(X)lbs. It was terrible heavy. I'll tell you the
substance of it now. You had l(X)lbs of gun cotton — 60lbs of gun
cotton and 401bs of tonite packed with sand. Now sand is very heavy.
The timber in the box was wet heavy timber — it had to be — and the
edges would cut the shoulder of you. I'll chance it anyway , says I. A
very good one now; it was perched on a platform for holding milk.
Barry insisted on trying it. They slipped it on to him. He gave one step.
In the name of God take it off he cried. I'll do anything , but I am not
carrying that. So then we fixed on Jack Corkery from Bandon. He was
about my height. The fuses were lit. As far as I can remember they
were timed for seven minutes. They were lit outside and we walked in.
11 w as very difficult for us to edge in with it because there was very little
room between the barbed wire. If the wire got stuck in your clothes you
would be in trouble. Anyway we succeeded. Tom Barry was right after
us. We put it gently up against the door because we were told it was a
sensitive mine. If we left it down quickly it might explode. Tom got a
little flag underneath it to tilt it up against the door. I put my right hand
against the frame of the door, and whatever look I gave upwards, I saw
the dark porthole of the barracks coming out over our heads. Someone
could be there looking down at us, I thought. Tom Barry had said,
please do not attempt to rush out together. Come out one after another. I
was last to leave. Jack had stayed, then he hopped it. I followed, but as
I turned out of the gate a small gun fell out of my pocket. I pawed
around in the dark looking for the gun. Yerra , said I, my life is more
important than the cursed old gun. Of course I still had my rifle in my
right hand.

We rushed up to where Barry stood. What kept you so long, said he.
You told us to come out in single file. Oh , I never meant you to stay that

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229

long. We were waiting, waiting, waiting. Seven minutes is a good bit
you know. All of a sudden my rifle fell from me and my two hands
touched the ground with the shock of the explosion. Listen to me. it
shifted windows and everything, and they stood in mid-air for seconds
before collapsing to the ground. I never saw anything like it in my life.
The people across the street could not come down, staircases had been
ripped out by the explosion.

We headed down to break in. But you could not see a way with the
dust and falling rubble. At first the police offered surrender, but then,
one fellow said, we'llfight it to a finish. Look out. I cried, they are going
to fight- The next second a bomb was tossed from a window. It fell near
us. Now when a bomb hits the ground like that it will hop up in a way
you cannot predict. It will not roll off. We had to withdraw while they
threw out more bombs.

We had our parafin and petrol bombs ready however. We quickly
collected these and commenced firing them in. You get back to the
back, said Tom. Bob Hales was there beside an open gap. I wondered
was he attentive enough should they try an escape. I sent Bob to face
the blank space of a window. Have a go, I said, at any fellow who tries
jumping out. None came out by the open gap. now covered by me, but
three escaped from the window. They sneaked away behind a toilet
which we burned down in the finish.

While I was around the back, I missed the fun at the front. The
petrol cans thrown in had not taken fire. Barry caught hold of a sack,
folded it. stuck a bayonet through it. Then setting it alight he pitched it
in. There was a roar of flames, and for minutes we could see the
devastating effect of heavy blast charges. The entire building was now
a seething mass of flame. Three policemen had perished in the original
explosion, though some, as I have said, escaped. We lost no men. nor
had any been wounded. We waited no longer than was necessary, then
we moved off. We picked up our boots where we had left them. It was
still March and there was plenty of snow about. But we warmed up
rapidly and sang marching songs as we moved away.

A few days after this the column moved over to Glendaw, west of
Dunmanway, where they prepared a big ambush, but the British failed
to turn up. That was a lovely position, said Tom. as he thought back to
when the time the whole column had lain in wait overlooking the road,
for a large force of the enemy. I think they found o,ut we were waiting
for them there.(I)

On 10th July we were attacking Inishannon Barracks. We had
attacked it a number of times, but none of these lasted long enough to
take it. because of the proximity of the big military establishment at
Bandon. (In the last year Tom was talking to an Irishman returned
from Australia. It was Jack Ryan, from Ballinspittle. He had been a

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company captain in the attack on Inishannon. The last place we met
Tom . said he. was at Inishannon. I'll tell you the date and all , cried
Tom. It was the 10th July , the date before our ill fated Truce with the
English. We were firing across at the old barracks. But you would need
a verv strong force because both roads leading to it would need to be
blocked and guarded.(2))

We could not believe the news of a truce at first. No, we did not think
the fight was won. Far from it. Later when the Treaty came and we
inquired about the North we were not too pleased. We still hoped
however, that the North would come in and that it would be one
government for the whole lot.

Break the Connection

We were not too pleased when they had a part of our country in
subjection. A bad job: we could see it would be another Fight. Barry
and the other leaders felt that the Free State element in Dublin should
be disarmed, but they failed to move decisively until it was too late. V\\
be very honest; our personnel were not up to the mark at all. In
Limerick we had plenty of good fighters. The Staters were not
numerous. Yet attacks were not pressed when they could have been.
At Bruff we were throwing rifle grenades on top of the barracks. We
now had it on target. They would have surrendered in a short time. At
that moment a messenger came with a note, you are urgently required,
it said. We called off our attack. I thought something big was on. What
was it. We were being disbanded into small and ineffective groups. I
could not see the sense of it. It is my personal opinion that Liam Lynch
and Liam Deasy were simply not up to it, but neither was our
headquarters’ staff in Dublin. We were allowed to fragment in the
countryside when we should have throttled the Staters in the early
months of 1922.

Limerick City itself was occupied on the 23rd February by Free State
troops while the local brigade of the IRA. the West Cork column
under Barry, units of Kerry and East Limerick columns were also in
occupation. For three weeks there was tense confrontation, but then
on the 10th March the Republicans agreed to move out leaving only a
token force there. Tom, with part of the column, twenty miles south,
around Bruff, felt this keenly. Limerick was a key place to have lost.

On April 9th the adjourned Army Convention which Richard
Mulcahy had attempted to prevent being held in March, was held.
Nearly half of the delegates sought strong and forceful action against
the Treatyite government. They were diverted by propositions from
Cathal Brugha. These withdrew the IRA’s allegiance from the
government. It is not necessarily a good thing to have an army

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231

separated from a government. It makes the army into a para military
thing. Anyway they elected an unwieldy executive,(3) and took no
action to snuff out the Staters. They went on talking to Richard
Mulcahy and Collins, both of whom were conniving with the English
and receiving big stores of armaments, to make this country into a
colony again.

Then on June 18th, only ten days before the attack on the Four
Courts, there was a Convention of the IRA held at the Mansion
House, Dublin. The new constitution of the Free State had been
published and elections held only two days before. The new
constitution placed the British King and Government firmly in charge
of Ireland. Many at the convention, including Tom Barry, wanted all
further talks with the Free State broken off. They proposed that the
IRA should attack the remaining British Army installations and move
against the North. It was not the time nor the place to discuss such
plans, 1 said to Tom. Nor did I think they would have worked. His head
nodded in agreement. Before speaking of his own involvement in the
Civil War, Tom hearkened back to his Bruff period of February/March
when, with sections of the West Cork column, he was given the
impossible task — from a manpower point of view — of preventing the
seizure of that part of the country.

First of all. he says, I was told by Deasy or Lynch to attack Bruff.
The first thing I did was to find out something about it. His recollection
on this — and he has never been back there — is remarkable. We went
in, he continued, and we met some of the local Republicans. They sent
out a big column every night, he heard, and they return each morning
at daybreak. Well at that rate we can take it without firing a shot. I had
three deserters, complete with uniforms, and they were prepared to
fight with us. I was like a deserter too, because I had a Free State
uniform but no allegiance.

In Bruff the barracks was facing one way towards the bridge, and
under that bridge was any amount of deep water. The four in uniform
and twentytwo men of the column, led by a scout, advanced into Bruff.
A sentry outside the barracks had the presence of mind to rush inside
and slam the door. I could have shot him in the back without any
difficulty, but I did not. His friends are inside and if I shoot this fellow
in the back they will fire out and we stand a bad chance. There was a
porthole on the left. I stuck in my Thompson and sprayed the yard with
bullets. When I looked around there was no one beside me only a
young fellow of about seventeen. Come here ; I whispered; we will get
away by passing underneath the windows.

Meanwhile the column had moved up to the right. There was one
fellow there, Donoghue from West Cork, who had been in the British
Army and who knew all about rifle grenades. He had a rifle, its cup and

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a grenade on top of it. He had two or three bags of bombs. We'll take
this in a short time. I moved up beside him. You are too near, says he.
Why, why, says I. Ah, some of the cartridges are not reliable; and when
they are not reliable they can splinter in all directions. We got the range,
and the grenades were already exploding inside the building when the
word came. I told you already a while back, you are wanted urgently in
another place. So the attack was stopped and we moved away. It was
typical of the stop-go tactics of the Republican Army on the run-up to
the Civil War. But there was no stop-go on the Free State side, they
were all go. man.

Surrender

Tom was captured in West Cork in September by General Tom
Ennis, at a place called Tuagh. But, fan go fdill, 1 must tell you of a
small incident which was the cause of saving my life. We captured the
Adjutant General of the Free State Army named Liam Hayes in
Caherconlish. He was inside a big house and Pete Kearney, Flyer
Nyhan and mise rushed the back door. I was in First and shouted:
surrender, we occupy the ground floor. We marched them out and
w hile I was lining them up, a fellow came along, saluted and said, I am
an officer, too. sir. If he had kept his mouth shut I would have released
him. We shifted them into Tipperary town. As soon as we arrived
there. I spoke to Hayes: / suppose, I said, you could do with some
refreshments. He gave me a suspicious look. I said, laughing,
refreshments in the nature of strong liquors. God, says he, that would be
wonderful. Name any number of bottles you want, says I, and I will get
them. Iam not buying them for you but I'll oblige by getting them. They
gave me a £10 note which I gave to a Volunteer and then turning to
them I said, what brands do you want? They thought that very good.
I'll never forget it if I live to be as old as Methuselah, and he lived 969
years. They had a bottle of Dew. two bottles of Powers and three of
Export. Tell the publican, I said to the Volunteer, to write the price
against each. So he did, and there was change of the £10 note. Hayes
said to me, hang on to the change. Oh, ! don't want your money; all I
want is yourself and your gun, and I have that.

But to return to that late August day in Tuagh. We were fighting
four hours withstanding them and eventually Tom Ennis turned up
w ith reinforcements. And it was he who captured us. There were three
of us there. Our ammunition was nearly gone. Stephen O'Neill was in
the kitchen and I was on one knee in a door going down to a small
room. The road was up higher than the house. I was wearing a hat and
two bullets passed through the brim of it. That was tight wasn't it? I had
to lie flat on the ground with my legs underneath a bed. Someone
outside fired in a bomb which landed in the bed. Dan Holland was

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233

under the window. The bomb exploded. Jesus, there was wires and
feathers flying all over the place. I went over with a short gun which 1
gave to Dan. Put your hand out of the window and fire down at the
ground, you might get him. He did a couple of times and wounded the
attacker crouched there. Barricade the window now t says I. and we
did. with a mattress, and there were no more bombs coming in the
window.

We had to surrender in the finish. Ennis took us to Bandon. to a
hotel across from a pub. We went upstairs, where we had plenty of
everything treated very well. The morning came and Tom Ennis said to
me: You'll be going back to Union Quay(4)soon, but we'll have a drink
on the way in. Where will we stop, between Bandon and Cork city? Oh.
said I. the Half Way. They don 7 like you there , said he. The reason was
that one night we were above it on the railway. There were Free State
soldiers in the pub. I said. I'll wake up these fellows. I'll fire a few shots
into them. One shot hit a bottle of Paddy. It put whiskey and glass
flying. It was a good reason for not liking me.

We'll stop there anyway, said he. Just before reaching Inishannon
village he pulled up his convoy. He had a couple of lorries and put out
his hand. Shake, I'm Tom and you're Tom, and the best markrnanship I
ever heard of was right across from here over to the bye-road. We had a
lorry a few weeks back, and it was travelling about 45 miles an hour. It
was a normal lorry. Some fellow fired from the bye-road with a
Thompson, killing one and wounding six more. It was the best
markrnanship I ever experienced with a gun. I don 7 know what you are
talking about, said I. But he was dead right, it was myself alright.

I spent time after that in Cork Jail and then in Tintown No. 2. There
were great footballers there. Our team won the 2nd Senior League of
the camp. Matty Murphy. Jim Hurley, Rood of Fermoy and more
were in that team. It was a great team entirely.

I came out in December 1923. I remember I was at Booley Hill,
north of Upton, when MossTwomey. Mick Price. Dave Rtzgeraldand
a few more came around reorganising. By God, says I, we'll not stop
now. We will go on until the country is free, and we will get in the Six
Counties eventually. I always said, break the connection, and when
England goes it will resolve itself out after. I am under the impression
that if England leaves, the people there who oppose us now. will make
no fight. I satisfied myself on that during the days I spent at Maire
Drumm’s funeral four years ago. They all told me that. There is a great
fighting spirit there.

I thought it bad when De Valera broke off in 1926.1 thought Ranna
Fail would turn out better than what they did. I could never see myself
in a tie-up with a political party as long as Partition lasted.

Of the IRA leadership of that period, I always enjoyed Peadar

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TOM KF.LLEHER

O'Donnell. He took me half way on the road between Dublin and
Belfast, talking all night. I met all the Gilmores. George. Harry and
Charlie, real good fellows. I thought Ryan a good soldier; what a pity
he went off to Spain. I was very fond of Jim Killeen, and MacBride; we
were great friends.

(Tom was not a supporter of Sean Russell's English campaign in
1939.) I would not promote that, says he; still on the other hand it is no
harm to get the English crowd into difficulties now and again.

REFERENCES

1 Sec Appendix, p. 415: The Fight at Upton Station.

2 See Appendix, p. 421.

3 The members of the IRA’s governing Executive: Liam Lynch. Liam Mellows.
Rory O’Connor. Joseph McKelvey. Ernie O’Malley, Sean Moylan. Frank Barrett.
Michael Kilroy. Liam Deasy. Peadar O’Donnell. P. J. Ruttledgc. Seamus Robinson.
Joseph O’Connor. Tom Barry. Pax Whelan and Tom Derrig.

4 Union Quay Barracks. Cork city.

KEY:

mise = myself

fJairiitlach agus ar san na saoirse = generous hearted and on the side of independence
sleachtach = tidy
bdithrin = a laneway
fan go fdill - wait a while

235

of Cork

Connie

Neenan

A greater friendship cannot he
Than that my friend bestows on me —
Friendship so wide I cannot measure
Kindness so vast — there is no treasure
Can equal his or weigh it down,

Tis greater than a kingdom's crown.

So lavishly on me bestowed
While halting on the upward road.

My aims appear a fantasy.

To all except my friend and me,

I plead to the Omnipotent
That ere my empty life be spent —
That ere my last close-written page
Be filled, and cruel deadly age
Weigh hard on me and snap my breath
And pass me to the victor. Death,

I yet may help and comfort lend
To my long-tested, well-loved friend.

Joseph McGarrity to Connie Neenan

Ami on safe groiaid talking to you at all? The big man towered over
me, looking down. / am asking you , because I would not talk
otherwise? lam? Behind his back the walls were lined with books. The
titles I could see clearly. Books of Irish and international interest.
Sometimes two or three copies together. An omniverous reader, or
one at the very least who kept in touch. That was it, he keeps in touch.
The local hurling club, callers, a Christian Brother — off to Rome.
Hastily looking in the door. Goodbye. The house is called Fatima,

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CONNIE NEENAN

and there was a large car on the drive. About us signs of comfort, nay.
affluence. Well done. I thought. Another citizen of the Republic who
had swam successfully against the tide.

I once heard that my father spent six months in Cork Jail for
national activities, but proof of that I cannot give: they were national
anyhow, and they were pro labour. In the Dublin strike of 1913. I
remember I was earning two shillings a week at the time. It was a
fabulous amount: even the banks were after me. I subscribed sixpence
a week of that to the strike relief fund. I recall now. speaking at a
dinner here four years ago. where I related how Canon Sheehan
prophesised 1916 in his Graves of Kilmorna, and the 1913 strike in his
Miriam Lucas.

We had a good national background. My mother was wonderful.
She was outstanding. My mother was so good that in the Tan War —
we had an aunt living in Blackpool on the other side of Cork city: her
husband had died, so it was a safe place for putting things. My mother
would take a rifle under her shawl and cross the whole city, which was
quite a job. She was a tall woman, not as tall as I am. but very near it.
She was outstanding; a fighting type.

When 1916 came it had a great impact. It hit us; of course we were
svmpathic before that. But to quote the late Seamus Murphy quoting
Yeats:"A Terrible Beauty was born".

We had no sympathy with John Bull in the run-up to the Rising.
There was harassment here of Volunteers by the R.I.C . They were the
agents of Britain here and some of them were quite nasty.

We were strong in Cork when the conscription threat came in April
1918. We were one of the best organised. We did not welcome any
influx of conscription heroes. We knew they would not last. They
would drop out. We had foreseen that. We had fine leaders,
MacCurtain.(l) Terry MacSwiney. Sean O'Hegarty. and many more.
They were in Cork One. In the west you had Barry's outfit, and in
North Cork Liam Lynch and Mick Fitzgerald who died on hunger-
strike. I was on that hunger-strike with Mick. Terry too was on the
same strike. I will tell you how that happened. There was a meeting of
the Brigade Staff in the City Hall. We got a tip-off about a raid but too
late. The messenger did not arrive in time. They were all arrested. I
was not there. I was in Cork Jail. The man in charge of us there was
Maurice Crowe from Tipperary: he had already been on a number of
hunger-strikes. Tom Shea was a warder there, another called
Fitzpatrick. They were absolutely outstanding. They were better to us
than any I.R. A. man. Tom Shea came to me this morning with the bad
news. Terry. Liam Lynch. “Sandow" Donovan,(2) Michael Leahy,
Joe O'Connor and some more had been brought in. I said to Tom;

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237

Wait a while. I'll get out of bed andl' II walk in the exercise yard. I knew
they would watch me from the tower. Tell Terry to come over and
shake hands with me; the others to ignore me. I knew they had given
false names. That will confuse the authorities. It worked.
Unfortunately. Terry was moved however, and moved in forty-eight
hours. Now on the whole question of a strike I was dead set against it.
So were four other people. My argument was simple. You are trying to
get out under subterfuge but they won't fall for that. They will let you die.
And three of them did eventually die.

But to return to Terry. He was moved. The next thing I knew,
Maurice Crowe, our O.C. came to see me. We have been ordered to
stop the strike , said he. or we will be deported tonight. Who said that?
Two British Army officers. Where are they, said I. Outside the door.
Send them in. What is this, said I to them. We have instructions from our
commanding officer, said one, to arrange for your deportation if you do
not cease this strike. / presume, said I. your commanding officer is
General Strickland. They did not answer. Right, said I. tell your
commanding officer he is not my commanding officer. To hell with him.
It is not the first time you have deported Irishmen, and it may not be the
last.

That was about 4.30 in the afternoon. About 7.30 I could hear cell
doors banging and a great deal of movement. I wondered what it was.
Next morning Tom Shea, the warder, came to me. That worked grand.
They released “Sandow”, Michael, and a whole flock last night. There
was a lot of young fellows from Duagh in North Kerry. They were on
hunger strike and were liable to deportation too. I said to Maurice: if
these lads are threatened send for the doctor. He was Dr. Harney.
Simply say to him. I will hold you responsible for their deaths. That is a
responsibility he will never take.

The following night I was taken out with Maurice Crowe and a
fellow named Crocker from Ballylanders. The chief warder arrived, a
very decent fellow. He offered me brandy. I said no, lam on strike. We
were moved immediately on stretchers to hospital and put under
observation for twenty four hours. The following night, again on
stretchers, twenty eight of us were moved aboard the steam packet and
deported. I can still remember the next morning walking up the hill
from Winchester station, under close guard, to the prison. I was barely
able to move. I felt completely beaten. We had been ten days on
hunger strike at this time. Along came the English doctor stepping it
out nicely; / hope you had a pleasant trip, said he. in jolly tones. I
surveyed him sourly; if I ever get away from here, I whispered. I shall
kill you, you inhuman animal. He moved quickly away from me. I was
angry, but I was too fatigued for it to make any difference. I felt beaten
to the ropes. We lingered that way for weeks. Then an Irish attorney

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CONNIE NEENAN

from London, bv name. McDonald, was sent to us with a message from
Collins. Come off. it simply said. You have done fine, but there will he
no more hunger strikes. I don’t know if he had heard of my earlier
opposition to this one. I did not know for weeks after that, that Terry
was dead. They kept it from us.

Wormwood Scrubs

We were brought back to Cork and tried on various charges, and
again deported. This time we were sent to Wormwood Scrubs. Later I
was sent to Birmingham. We were all separated. Ten of us had been
together, but four were transferred into the convicts. They were very
strict with us. being careful to keep us apart. I remember one morning
walking in silence around the circle when a warder pulled me out. What
is this for. said I. You are walking in front of a Paddy, said he. I looked
carefully at this chap. I did not know him. but I went after him the first
chance I got. Drop your hands behind your back, I said, in undertones,
and answer my questions. Have a look at me first. Drop your hand if
you don 7 understand, lift them if you do. Are you a Republican person?
Where do you come from? I am from Cork, and I gave my name. His
name was Hugh Keaveney and he had a companion called Lagan.
They were there for two months and we did not know it.

I had been a tailor by trade. I wore scapulars. I had messages sewn
inside them, and though they used to strip us they would never
examine these. When your back is against the wall you can think, you
think of all sorts of subterfuges. I remember in Scrubs there was a great
lad. Eamonn Burke from Mitchelstown. We were all lined up this day
by the staff. They were quizzing us for our right names. There was a
chap from Limerick, Frank Glasgow. Afterwards he was Mayor of
Limerick. He gave his name in Irish. Just a moment, said the warder,
sav that again. Glasgow repeated it. I added to the confusion by
throwing my voice, like a ventriloquist. Just a moment, said the
Governor, addressing me. Are you trying to intimidate him. There is no
one trying to intimidate anyone here, I said, except you. If you don't
know his name why is he in here? Our fellows laughed. At that moment
it was the very thing we needed, something psychological. While I was
there I was co-opted on to a vacancy on the Corporation. I had always
opposed volunteers serving as politicians, but this was different: I was
in jail and I could not oppose it.

LONDON

I was due for release in February, 1921. The morning I was due to go
I saw two individuals near the gate, on the inside. I asked a warder:

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239

who are they? They are two tecs, said he. I moved out. I could see I was
being followed. I stayed well back from the tram stop. When the bell
rang I made a rush for it and got away from them. I arrived at the
Queen's Hotel where a completely new rig-out awaited me. I put the
old clothes in a bag and passed out again. No one could have
recognised me. 1 went to London that night and I was in touch with
Sam Maguire, O.C. Britain, the next day. Frank Thornton, from
G.H.Q. was there with him. I was given some work to do, and
remained there for three weeks, keeping a low profile, of course.
Collins must have had a marvellous organisation for he knew when
each of us was due for release, and he always had a job waiting for us.
The only trouble on release was the ridiculous travel voucher. It
practically ensured that you would be arrested before getting to your
destination. Buy them a ticket , I told them in H.Q. Subsequently, that
is what they did.

Cork 1920-21

Sam Maguire was one of the most resourceful men 1 have ever met.
He had a marvellous intelligence group. He got me up to Liverpool
with Tadg Sullivan, a Kerry chap originally, but attached now to the
Cork Brigade. We were in Liverpool for about five days, keeping well
out of sight. We came back then as two stowaways in a coal boat. Tadg
was so sick I thought he would die. We were two days at sea. I was
alright but the smell of the coal and the oil, and the rocking about of the
old tramp in the February gales was too much for him. Poor chap, he
was killed five weeks later in Douglas Street. I had given orders on a
Saturday that our active service men were to stay clear of Douglas
Street. For some reason the following Monday he had to pass that way.
He saw he was being followed. He ran from them, through a house
called Hennessy's, but they trapped him in the yard. They just plugged
him there. Tans it was. That was how life was then. Cheap.

The sad thing was. that although we had good intelligence contacts,
we did not know until it was nearly too late, that there was an anti-Sinn
Fein murder gang in existence, information on our lads was passed
along from certain business people and loyalists living a low profile
existence. It was not until September 1920 — months before Tadg’s
death of course — that we laid a trap and caught this clerk in the main
post office. He was the main channel through which the notes were
passed. He confessed everything. We now had twelve names, some of
them very prominent people. One by one they were shot dead, except
one fellow who made off to London, but he, we were told, committed
suicide on the train. That made a terrific impact. There were other
forces against us too. Bishop Cohalan, the local man here, issued a

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rescript against us. People walked out of the churches when it was
read, but many of the local priests did not read it. / have a
communication here from the Bishop , said our local curate, and if
anyone wants to read it let him come round to the sacristy afterwards.
The Capuchins were good, the Franciscans too.

The centre of Cork was burned out by the Tans in December 1920.
Some people think that was the only burning they did. But of course not.
They burned and burned; farmhouses, creameries, business premises,
homes, anything they could get their hands on in every part of the
country; out in rural parts where there had been ambushes, throughout
West Cork, in East Limerick, in Tipperary, in Trim. Balbriggan,
Cahirciveen. everywhere. The torch became an open manifestation of
British power. They were at it in Cork City too. 1 was in charge and I
went to Sean 0'Hegarty,(3) Brigade O.C. He was a great disciplinarian.
Outstanding. You could do a Kilmichael or a Crossbarry, and he
would not say thank you. This has got to stop , I said to him. Tell the
loyalist population , tell General Strickland , that where they burn in
future , we will burn twelve of theirs. We served this notice on the Fifth
Column about the middle of May, and there was never a burning after
that. It worked because it was a very practical approach to it.

Things were getting extremely tough for us in the run-up to the
Truce. I know what Collins has said about that but I do not agree. Had
we more equipment we could have done more. I remember about the
end of May or the beginning of June we had these twelve big bombs.
We attacked three barracks with these bombs. We were hunted and
chased; we were short of equipment, but still you carried on. I recall
O'Hegarty sending an urgent message for me. He had come all the way
from Ballingearv in West Cork, sixty miles, to a place called Loughnah
in East Cork. I could not go that night. It was impossible. I went the
following day and met him. While we were there, there was a raid on.
We had to take to the fields. I had to came back that night to Cork. I
took a pony and trap, and I had two girls as a cover. Getting into
Riverstown, I fortunately went into the nearest pub. They told me
there was a dragnet out over the whole area. I stayed there a couple of
hours. Then I made back but was held up by the Tans crossing Parnell
Bridge. There was a red headed policeman there too, by the name of
Carroll, a high jumper. He came over and placed a hand on my
shoulder. / know this gentleman very well . said he, he is a friend of
mine. That was a narrow shave because, had they recognised me, they
would have cut me to pieces.

Under Pressure

We were under pressure, but we had wonderful intelligence. We had

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241

staff in every hotel. You could not enter Cork that time without us
knowing all the details about you. The going was tough, but you were
still there. As I say, had we more equipment we could have done more.

When the Truce came, we felt we had created a situation which
would allow for successful negotiation, no more than that. None of us
thought we had won. Before we come to that though, I must tell you a
story about a very unfortunate thing. The night before the Truce, on
July 10th, I was living not far from here; with me was a staff officer.
Bob Aherne. Around midnight my mother called me to inform me that
there were four young British soldiers who had just been taken
prisoner by our fellows. I felt alarmed. There they were I suppose, out
for the first time in months with their guard down. One of them had
gone into a shop to buy sweets. With my brother-in-law and a few
more. I went out and searched the fields from here toTogher. Around
two in the morning we met some of our lads. The news is had. they said;

I was astounded. But surely no one would shoot anyone at a time like
this? I crept into a house, exhausted and filled with remorse, the chap
with me a bundle of nerves. We could not sleep. We just hung out there
until twelve o’clock the next day. The Truce had come.

Peace

Straightaway there was an atmosphere of ease, of euphoria almost.
You were a different man from thereon. Then we started training. We
set up proper training camps. The people were very pleased but we
were very cautious. Many of us expected the negotiations to break
down in the first few weeks, but as the months dragged on our fears
subsided. We lowered our guard alright. Of course all the pressures
were upon us. First, the people that wanted to entertain you, be seen
with you. buy you a drink, though few of us drank. You were dealing
with a fickle public, many of them controlled by the bishops and
priests. And their watchword was. never again. I remember walking
along the morning after the Treaty was signed. There were these two
ladies. Oh. they said, il's great; peace at last. Fine, said l. so long as it is
not pieces.

You get sceptical about peace gestures. When you recall that it was
Lloyd George, Churchill and Galloper Smith who sent the Black and
Tans to Ireland, you can’t help being cynical that they should suddenly
want to confer peace upon us. I remember years afterwards in the U.S.
Gogarty told me the story of Augustus John, the famous painter,(4)
who was employed to give lessons to Churchill. You know of course,
that he became quite a painter in his own right. John was approached
by A. E.. by Yeats, and some more to use his influence with Churchill
about the excesses of the Black and Tans in Ireland. This he did.

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CONNIE NEENAN

choosing the moment carefully, at lunch one day, / never saw such hate
in any mans face ; said John. He just turned livid. If I had my way, said
he, / would wipe out the whole God damned race.

The thing that damned the Treaty was Griffith's promise to Lloyd
George, made in a memorandum which he was foolish enough to allow
Tom Jones, Lloyd George's secretary, prepare, agreeing to Partition,
provided that the Treaty allowed for a Boundary Commission.(5) He
agreed personally to that at Park Lane on the 13th November, three
weeks before the Treaty was signed. It was dynamite; he kept that
promise from the Cabinet back in Dublin. There could be no excuse
for that. The only honourable excuse open to such a defector was to
resign. Instead he split the delegation. They even returned after their
last weekend in Dublin on the 3rd and 4th of December, in two
separate boats. Don't tell me the British were not informed of that. As
Cathal Brugha was to say afterwards, they knew their men.

John D. Ryan, later a wealthy man in the U.S., was on the run in the
earlier years. He went to Germany. Moss Twomey knew him well, and
Sean MacBride. From London in November 1921, he sent a coded
cable to Joe McGarrity: Things are not going well. Later on, about the
1st of December, he sent Joe another cable in the same vein. The sad
thing was that when the first news reports came to Clan na Gael they
were split in two. I was not there then, but I heard it all afterwards. Joe
and Harry Boland supported the Treaty at first; when Judge Cohalan
and Devoy saw this they were against it. Later they reversed their
positions. 1 say they were insane. Two uncompromising individuals
only should have been sent. You had the example of Joe McGrath and
Harry Boland who were sent to deliver the Cabinet's reply to Lloyd
George at Gairloch the previous September. It was couched in
uncompromising terms. Lloyd George was having a salmon for
supper. You know the sort he was; he lived well. He spoke to them
only of the salmon and ignored the communication. He suggested they
take it away and he would regard it as not having been delivered. We
had instructions to deliver it to you, said McGrath; now it is in your
hands and we are not taking it hack. De Valera published the letter the
next day; so there could be no denying it.

Division

We here in Cork, in the I.R.A. that is, were anti-Treaty from the
start. In the days before December we were saints and heroes, now we
were burglars and bank robbers. We could see it was incomplete and
that it would cause endless trouble for generations afterwards — and
the North today is proof of that, but the job was to convince people.
And our word taken against the Bishop of Cork — a man that had

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243

excommunicated us when we were fighting the Tans — did not fit in
either. The ecclesiastical powers were against us, and they were very
vocal. The papers were against us as they had always been. They just
wanted the status quo back in any shape or form. They were sure of it
under a Free State: they could not be sure of it under a Republic.

I remember attending a meeting of the First Southern Division in
Mallow. It may have been early in June, and it must have been after the
Collins-De Valera Pact.(6) I did not like this discussion. Its purpose
seemed to be the appointment of a common Chief of Staff over the two
factions of the Army. The Free State crowd wanted Eoin O'Duffy who
I always regarded as a phoney. He never did anything except write
despatches. If they held up a postman in his part of the country they
would make an ambush out of it. I interrupted; Are we merely to fight
for the post of Chief of Staff or for the Republic? (7)

The following Saturday night, we all met again in the Clarence
Hotel, to hear the report on these proposed joint Army appointments.
It was the 17th June, eleven days before the Free State attacked the
Four Courts. Everyone felt a little more militant. The next day, in the
Mansion House, there was a vote on declaring war upon British forces
in the North. I remember Barry and Sean O'Hegarty had the same
sentiments. Don't talk, but act. The war party won. by a narrow
majority. They were opposed by Cathal Brugha and Liam Lynch.
There was an immediate demand for a recount. This time the war party
lost. They immediately left. Rory O'Connor, Joe McKelvey, Liam
Mellows, Peadar O'Donnell, twelve members of the sixteen man
Executive walked out. They were joined that night in the Four Courts
by Ernie O'Malley. The Free Staters immediately sought to turn the
split to their advantage. They had received full reports of the
discussions. Moylan, Lynch, Tom Kelleher, myself and the rest had
remained. Let ye fight in the North , said Moylan facetiously, and when
ye get hate back to Cork we'll take them on. Collins, Ginger O'Connell,
Gearoid O'Sullivan, Mulcahy even, decided the southern divisions
would not fight. The Four Courts would be a push over.

Reggie Dunne

I will deal now with a traumatic event that occurred in the few
remaining days, the shooting of Sir Henry Wilson.(8) I knew both
Reggie Dunne, and Joseph O'Sullivan well; I had met them with Sam
Maguire. Sometime in May, I had bumped into him one night in
Mooney's when I called in for cigarettes. He emerged with me; he was
with Frank Thornton, one of Collins' men, the job on Wilson is on, said
he. I was not to breathe a word. I could not. It was a profound secret.
And I did not breathe it. Sean O'Hegarty had sent me and Mick

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CONNIE NEENAN

Murphy over to London, to track down and shoot a famous spy we had
here. We did not succeed for the simple reason that when we got there
we found he was doing seven years in jail. It was the safest place for
him. at the time.

We had a lot of ammunition in London at the time. I went to the
trouble of getting it carefully packed and crated as machine parts and
sent them by steampacket. When it arrived in Cork, of course, it was
taken care of. Sam was against the Treaty. Did ye steal those two
machine guns last February , he inquired. Well we did, but I could not
tell him just then, so I laughed. I am sure whoever has them will put
them to good use , said I. They went to North Cork, and were used in
the Clonbanin ambush. subsequently.

Before we pass on, I would like here to set the record straight on a
bogus letter, a cringing letter said to have been written by Reggie
Dunne. When I read this, I said, that is not Reggie Dunne. It could not
be. I knew there could be no such letter. I confirmed that with Florence
O'Donoghue and Joe McGrath, both of whom held letters and
documents from Dunne. Joe McGrath produced Reggie’s last letter to
me. It is a fine one; I have had many copies made. You may find us
guilty , it said, but we will go to the scaffold justified by the verdict of our
conscience.

The Civil War

But to return to the Clarence Hotel, the Convention in the Mansion
House, and the Four Courts; we had travelled up by road, and we
returned by road. We brought our divisional armoured car. We stayed
two nights at the Clarence, so we had returned nine days before the
assault. Liam Lynch and Liam Deasy were in the Clarence but I doubt
if they were still there when the shelling started. Now I would like to
say something on that, in view of the many reflections made against
Lynch. This was that at the commencement of the assault, he gave his
word to the Free State crowd at Kingsbridge that he would not fight.
Moss Twomey denies that, and no one knew Lynch better at that time
than Moss. I knew Lynch well myself and I would agree with Moss.(9)

When our brigade in Cork heard of the attack on the Four Courts we
met straightaway. We decided to reinforce Limerick. Mv party was
stopped at Buttevant but we reached Broadford in Limerick the first
night. We were caught there between two Free State posts. With me
were a number that I recall, Corney Sullivan and a lad called Spillane.
Next thing the shooting started and Spillane fell. We all lay prone. I
could see his rifle had dropped away from him. He died in five minutes.
That was the start of it for us. We went from there to Rathkeale where
we met Liam Lynch. We moved on to Adare; we captured a post there.

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245

Then we arrived in Limerick. We lost a couple of great lads there. One
fellow that I recall now, Paddy Naughton, he was very good in the Tan
War.

We were crossing Georges Street separately when he was hit. He
fell. I helped him up and pushed him through a door. Paddy , I said.
you are all right . We will take care of you. But he turned his eyes up to
me, Connie , will you look after my rifle? Nonsense , Paddy , I replied,
that's a superficial wound. But I saw then that his consciousness was
going from him. Dear Christ, but he was a terrific man at a time when
we needed men.

Retreat

Who ordered us to leave Limerick? Well, it is hard to say. Tom
Kelleher says our position was a strong one and Limerick was of crucial
importance to us. He blames Deasy and Lynch — I am not sure. The
direction must have come from Divisional Staff, from Liam Lynch and
Deasy. The people in charge on the spot were Donovan. Mick
Murphy, and myself. The Staters that were there were far better
organised and in greater numbers. They had seized posts and we had
seized posts. We had occupied as far as William Street, but firing had
not commenced at this stage. They had however, taken some prisoners
at Ballyneety four miles outside. I was deputised to go with a local
volunteer and meet their Commandant, Tommy Murphy to seek the
release of these prisoners. They said they would, but meanwhile Eoin
O'Duffy, their Chief of Staff had arrived, and put up in the William
Street Barracks with Murphy. When I returned to Limerick I found
that firing had started. They had started it.( 10) I was a lucky man that 1
had not been taken prisoner. They enfiladed fire at us from the
buildings and from across the river. We were in a tight situation. In the
end we had no chance against them. Retreat became inevitable. My
strongest complaint is that we were ordered out at an early hour of the
evening while it was still daylight. That made it all the harder. The
retreat when it came, resembled a stampede. We were the last to leave
the new barracks, it was a scene of chaos; everyone was gone. We were
so hungry that 1 went out and stole a loaf of bread. But then, we
Republicans as you can see from Ernie O'Malley, were hopeless at
looking after the commissariat. You would think that we had never
heard of Napoleon’s dictum — an army marches on its stomach. And
so we fell back through Patrickswell, Adare, finally ending up in
Buttevant about four o’clock in the morning. We felt hopelessly
disillusioned and disheartened.

The whole flaming struggle seemed to be leading nowhere. They
captured our men; held them and later shot some of them. We

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captured their men, sometimes twice over, and had to let them go. We
had nowhere to put them, no arrangements. No one now had the heart
to fight.

Liam Lynch meanwhile had moved a week before this, with his
Director of Operations, Sean Moylan, to a new H.Q. at Clonmel.
From there it had been intended to occupy Thurles. I had gone to play
a match there a few weeks before, purely for the purpose of inspecting
Free State strongpoints. We never took Thurles; the men we had in the
town retreated from it. Meanwhile H.Q. moved again, this time
further south, to Fermoy. That was about the third or fourth week of
July. He evacuated Fermoy on August ilth — our last town; the
previous day Cork City had been entered after troops had arrived by
sea to Passage West. I was in Douglas then, with Corney Sullivan and
Mick Murphy, when their armoured car came on top of us. Corney and
I jumped over the ditch. Mick ran the wrong way. They opened up on
him but he escaped. After that the retreat into the countryside meant
that our columns just melted away. There were no longer houses open
to them.

Collins

I referred already to Frank Thornton, one of the hard men of
Collins' squad in Dublin. Some say about this time (early August)
Collins wished to get the two sides together. I cannot say if there is any
basis for that. (11) Thornton however, was sent down to the south — he
told me this himself — for the purpose of peace; he hoped to meet
Dinny Lacy, Dan Breen, and Bill Quirke. However, he was caught in
an ambush, in which some of his party were killed, and he himself was
badly wounded. Whatever importance one attaches to this story, the
fact remains that when Collins himself came to Cork he did not contact
our people nor, so tar as I know, did he try.(12)

Gogarty was the surgeon who performed the autopsy on Collins.
Years afterwards in New York, he described it to me. You see that
finger nail; it was about that size. It was a one in a million chance of
being fatal. Of course I knew Gogarty intimately. He talked candidly
to me. I knew that he had been anti-Republican, that.he had been
violently opposed to De Valera, but the atmosphere in America was
different. People sought me out. They were happy to meet me because
1 dealt in facts. I knew he was a great admirer of Collins, more so of
Griffith. Griffith and he were pals. In my opinion, for what it is worth,
we would never have had an execution had Collins lived. Emmet
Dalton is a case in point. I knew Emmet and Charlie, all of that Dublin
crowd very well. In his resignation statement when he returned to
Cork after Collins' death, he said, / cannot stand for the execution of

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any Irishman. There you have the authentic Collins type speaking out
through Dalton. But who succeeded him? People who hated us and
murdered indiscriminately.

Survival

I met Jock MacPeake in November after he came over to us with his
armoured car; the car that was accompanying Collins, at Beal na
Blath. I took him from Ballingeary into Kerry to a place called
Gortluchra. He had joined the lads in West Cork, and he ended up in
Garvin’s of Crookstown with Jimmy Lordan. The armoured car went
on the blink, so we hid it as we were not engaged in the sort of
operations where it would be of use. He wanted to get away from West
Cork. We had to walk: walking for miles we were. Near Gortluchra we
were crossing a river on the trunk of a tree, the bridge having been
blown, when the poor devil let his rifle fall. We could not get down in
the dark to look for it, so we left it there. We stopped that night with
people called Quill, and they picked up the rifle the next day. He
stayed there for a while and eventually returned to Glasgow. He was
arrested there, turned over to the Staters and spent five years in pretty
grim conditions in Maryborough on a charge of larceny, ending up in
London under a different name.(13)

Between Kerry and Cork I survived somehow in the subsequent
months. A cold November merged into a freezing December, and then
a new year dawned. It was 1923. But there was not much dawn in it for
our lads. The first executions occurred in Kilmainham in November.
Four young Dublin chaps taken in arms, and killed solely to pave the
way for the execution of the man both the English and the Staters
hated most, Erskine Childers.

No need to tell you what Churchill said after his capture.(14)
Childers was a writer only, but he understood the English ruling class;
he had tried to steerCollins and Griffith away from the worst clauses in
the Treaty and they all hated him — Staters and English — for that. I
had known him in the good days, and we were together again in the
hills around Ballingeary before his last fatal trip to Bob Barton’s place
in Laragh. I don’t think it mattered where he was caught or how he was
caught; they would have executed him anyway.(15)

The executions ran on during December, there were thirteen then,
thirtyfour in January, a few in February, more in March, April, and
May. Some lads were shot for only clipping telegraph wires. And you
had too, the unofficial killings by the state forces in every part of
Ireland, but worst of all in Kerry. I oscillated between there and West
Cork, sometimes creeping back into the city. We could no longer make
a response. We were up against it now. It was a matter of just keeping

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alive. There were fiftyfive thousand Stater troops in uniform, and they
reached into every hill and valley. One third of the people were still on
our side but they dare not show it. Nowhere now was safe.

On the 10th April, 1923 Liam Lynch, the Chief of Staff, was killed by
rifle fire on the slopes of the Knockmealdowns. Frank Aiken took over
there, and on the 24th May he issued the order to us to “dump arms”.
There was no surrender because the Free Staters would not offer us
terms. Sometimes, I think things could have been different if they had
been more magnanimous even at that time. But it was not in them to
be. Some of them 1 know, were sorry to see the war ended. The
soldiers had been making a living out of it and were anxious to keep it
going.

The Road Back

I managed to keep out of their way after that until the middle of
1924. Then they raided my mother's house and found me. 1 was
brought by a fellow called Culhane before their intelligence
department. They were filled with a lot of bloody ego. The walls of the
room were plastered with photographs of our lads. I sat down. 1
produced a cigarette. They commenced asking questions. I pretended
not to hear. Did you hear what I said , rapped one officer. I knew damn
well what he was driving at. But I said, why bring me here to ask these
questions? Why inflict expense upon the people by guarding me here
when you could have come to my house and asked the same questions? I
am damned if I would answer questions for you. You executed seventy-
seven and more of our lads , and you expect me to co-operate with you.
You can go to hell.

However, they did confirm for me a small incident that occurred in
the summer of 1923 in Castleisland. They had arrested a First Southern
Officer. Tom Crofts, in Castleisland and two others with him. Crofts
had received a despatch, which they had intercepted and let go on.
That was a trick of the British. Like waiting in a house after they had
raided it. But I turned up unexpectedly with Sean French and Connie
Connell. It was the anniversary of the death of one of the Kerry
leaders. We were hungry. Listen , I said, I m starved. We crossed the
road, and went upstairs into Sam Knights. A moment later, looking
down. I saw the Free State Army below. They caught three of our
fellows. We had escaped because we were hungry. But why did you not
arrest us that day , 1 said. We did not arrest you because you were not
supposed to be there. This confirmed my suspicions that the despatch
had been intercepted.

We were there that day on political work. Remember, I was still a
member of Cork Corporation even though I could not attend. There

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249

was a by-election in Limerick in May; Sean French had come to speak,
but I had to keep out of sight. That was the first time I met Sean
Lemass. He had been in the Four Courts, then in the Joy. and he was
shortly to be elected as a Sinn Fein T.D. for South Dublin. We could
see the tide was turning. Countess Markieviczcame into the campaign
rooms. I can still see her clearly. A striking beauty. All that Yeats had
said of her, even if a little faded now:

The light of evening, Lissadell.

Great windows open to the south.

Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle . . .

Dear shadows, now you know it all.

All the folly of a fight

With a common wrong or right.

The innocent and the beautiful
Have no enemy but time .. .

No enemy but time. Four years later she was dead. She said
something that night that I remembered long afterwards; If you want to
get the vote of the working man you have to associate with him in his own
public houses. We were all sent out, and most of us were abstainers,
but signs on it. we got the vote, even if we did not win the seat. We went
up from thirteen thousand the previous year to twenty three thousand.

Emigration

Like thousands of other Republicans I emigrated eventually. That
was against my wishes but I had to go.( 16) It happened this way. I was
still on the Corporation. Henry Ford was here in Cork, and around this
time they wanted to extend by purchasing the adjacent park. I
objected strongly because it threatened to remove the very area in
which we hoped to enlarge the ship anchorages. We were lacerated.
Employees of Ford came in and packed the gallery. The newspapers
said we were trying to drive Ford out. I needed a job. I went to Ford,
and I spoke to Grace, their managing director, whom I knew. How can
/ employ you after what you did? I only did what you would have done, I
replied, under the same circumstances. He proved very friendly. I knew
that if I got in they could not stop the others. There was a black mark
against Republicans everywhere, but I knew that if we got into Henry
Ford that would be broken. I got a job as a clerk down in the works;
more of our fellows got in then. The campaign of economic tyranny
that was being waged against us was broken.

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Earlv in 1926 it was plain that De Valera wished to change the
abstentionist policy of Sinn Fein. We had a strong cumann in Cork
then, the Terence MacSwiney Cumann. I opposed the change
although the majority of the cumann favoured it; yet they appointed
me unanimously to represent them at the Sinn Fein Ard Fheis on
March 10th in Dublin. How can / represent you? I said. I do not have
your views. If you wish to be democratic you should appoint somebody
else.

I left then for the United States. My elder brother Dan had been
there for a number of years. My father was dead. Dan was now
seriously ill — he was the pet of the family. My mother thought that if 1
went over to him he might improve. They actually forced me to go, but
Dan died anyway. I got a job with an oil company where I worked for
some time. I worked out a formula whereby one could measure the
amount by which the oil and gas fluctuated with heat and cold. The two
bosses called me in. Oh. I said, any kid in Ireland could tell you how it is
done. Right, they said, tell us. I will, said I. for an extra five dollars a
week.

At this time, in the late twenties. 1 was acting as U.S. representative
of the l.R.A. Army Council with Clan na Gael. I felt the l.R.A. should
send their messages direct and not through me. an intermediary, who
might misrepresent their views. Both parties agreed with me on this.
Moss Twomey came out; he was followed later by Mick Price. I
regarded Mick as a great character. Yerra, a powerful fellow. I drove
him around the East. I had the habit of calling every jay walker a
bastard. Terrible lot of illegitimate people in this country, are there not?
said Mick, after one bad evening. We met some Kerry lads at Flolio,
Massachusetts. They wanted us to meet this priest which we did
reluctantly. He commenced lecturing us. What university did you go
to? said he, as we took our leave. Turnip university , said I. half under
the ground, half on top.

Joe McGarrity

I was associated from the start with Joe McGarrity. He had a
restaurant in Forty-first Street. We dropped in one night. 1 found Joe
gracious but distant. A few nights later. Joe sent for me. He
apologised. He had not known who I was. The l.R.A. at that time were
represented by Con Leary. Through him I cemented an enduring
friendship with Joe. He was an outstanding character with a deep
reverence for De Valera. Dev stayed with him at Springfield Avenue,
Philadelphia. His only son alive is Eamonn De Valera McGarrity. In
1920 when Dev was setting out to return to Southampton on the Celtic
he signed everything over to his successor, Joe McGarrity. From the
first time he met him when he arrived as a stowaway in May 1919 he
venerated him.(17)

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251

Dev had arrived with Barney Dalton and Jimmy Humphreys. Joe
met them with Harry Boland at 11th Avenue. Dev was standing there
with a cap, a black scarf and an old coat. This must be one hell of a great
guy, said Joe, to undertake this job. They all departed for Philadelphia;
Pat McCartan. Harry Boland. Liam Mellows, Joe and the rest of the
party. Unfortunately, they were all idealists; not practical men, and
they did not therefore achieve the results they hoped to achieve. Dev's
Cuban interview in February 1920, debased the Irish claim to a
domestic issue. 5.8 million dollars were collected in the Bond drive but
many of the expenses fell upon Joe. He spent fortunes in the Irish
cause. He founded and kept going the Irish Press in Philadelphia, and
significantly, that was the name used in 1930 for Dev’s own paper here.

Before we pass on, shall I tell you of Major Kinkead. introduced to
Dev in May as the man who said no to the President. A very powerful
Irish delegation consisting of Judge Goff. Bishop Muldoon. Judge
Cohalan, and some more sought to interview President Wilson on the
issue of Ireland before the President sailed for Versailles. Eventually,
he was persuaded to meet them at the Metropolitan Opera House,
New York, on March 4th 1919. He refused to meet any delegation
containing Cohalan. an old political enemy. Smartly, the Judge
retired, saying, the cause is bigger than any one man.

Frank P. Walsh then commenced to present the case. Wilson
interrupted him: It was never my understanding, said he. that I was to
bring up Ireland's case at Versailles. He then turned to Major Kinkead,
isn’t that so? It is not so, replied Kinkead, the reason we are here is to
request you to bring up this question. That finished his career with
Wilson. He was not upset, however. He roped in Edward Doheny, the
oil king, behind the Bond drive. / cannot afford to be seen on a losing
side, said Doheny. This time you are on the winning side, said Kinkead,
who was accompanied by Jim Derwin of Texas Oil. He brought in Ed
Hynes too. of Chicago, another powerful figure. His connections were
invaluable.

Pat McCartan and Joe remained friends over the years; McCartan
sided with the Treaty, though he later reconciled himself to the
Republican position. He could be a good friend when a friend was
needed. I remember Joe sent for me around 1932. Things were really
bad with him. He had lost his seat in the Stock Exchange. I found him
stretched out on a bench in North Philadelphia railway station. He,
who had friends at every level, had not one to fall back on now. I knew
Sean T. O’Kellv had arrived from the new Fianna Fail government in
New York. That was September. 1933. One of his objectives was to get
the I.R.A. to throw their weight behind the new government. I had
breakfast with him. He took up Joe’s case with a very prominent Irish
American lawyer. Martin Conboy, but Conboy failed him. Tom

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O'Neill, a really sharp attorney whom we had and a brother-in-law of
Major Kinkead then took up the case. In next to no time he had him
exonerated, and obtained a big claim for damages.

The Thirties

Some of the Clan people now had the idea that Dev should appoint
the best of the I. R. A. officers over the Free State Army. Aiken seems
to have had the same notion. I knew this would not be acceptable. It
was rather like the old pre Civil War situation all over again. Mick
Price blew up when Tom McGill and myself put this forward at an
Army Council meeting in Dublin. He had a very shrill voice. Like
Bishop Moriarity , he shouted, hell is not hot enough or eternity long
enough for the Free State A rmy. (18)

To my mind Mick Price, Peadar O'Donnell, George Gilmore and
the rest were mistaken in 1934, when they set up Congress. Peadar had
a brilliant new' idea every week — he was famous for that, a Plan of
Campaign, that would impress everybody. The next day. he would
have forgotten it. He would replace it with something else. Price and
he parted at the end of that year. I was in close touch with Joe McGrath
still. I landed a job for Mick which he filled capably and well, and
which kept him in comfort until his death in the forties. It was the least
one could do for the man who had been O.C. in Mountjoy during the
toughest part of the struggle in 1923.1 was closely in touch all that time.
I was back in 1932, 1936, 1937, 1938 and 1939. Early on I could see that
De Valera would go off the rails, but it was not until 1934 that I
convinced Joe McGarrity of this. Joe was slow to convince because, as
I have said earlier, he had a high regard for De Valera.

Ryan and Russell

I knew Frank Ryan well at that time also. Frank came from the
Army Council to the States in April 1930 and remained for ten weeks.
He spoke very well but he was extremely deaf. I remember an amusing
incident when he visited Boston. Two newspaper men came to
interview him from the Boston American. 1 was there as his aide under
an assumed name. They suggested a photograph. It was one hell of a
job getting out of that one. If my friends there saw me appear under an
assumed name they would wonder naturally. Tom Daly from Kerry, a
brother of Charlie who was executed in Drumboe in 1923 was there. I
pushed him forward. You get into it , Tom, said I. I need not have
worried; the newspaper office got the pictures mixed up, and two
obviously Italian gentlemen appeared over the captions of Frank and
Tom. We had a good laugh over it.

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253

Sean Russell arrived in the States in April 1939. I could see, as the
summer progressed, that there was a war coming. I was over on this
side myself and I had a hell of a job getting back; a boat to Glasgow,
then one to Montreal, and so down to New York. I said to Russell: Get
out of here right now or you will he stuck. If you are stuck / can still show
you six ways of getting out. He did not want to go. Alright ; / will send
you to a friend of mine in California , and you can stay therefor as long
as you wish. He w as not happy with that either. I then asked Mick Quill
who had helped us in a lot of ways. Mick went to the Maritime
Commission. Joe Curran was the head man. and Blackie Myers, a well
known communist, was his second in charge. They met Russell,
Blackie offered to arrange for him to go as a stowaway. Russell was not
very keen to go this way. Blackie turned to me; of course you know
how hard boiled these seamen can be; is he a revolutionary? Well, I
replied, he is what you could call an intellectual revolutionary.

The Clan na Gael wanted to know what happened to Russell. I
hedged as I did not want the matter publicised. But the F.B.I. came
along very polite, but very efficient. Many of them are attorneys. They
had long lists of numbered questions and they put these to me for four
hours. I avoided giving anything away.

What did I think of Russell? A good type, but up in the air. His idea
of an English campaign was just a revival of the old Fenian idea of
Luke Dillon. So far as I know when Russell came here in April 1939, it
was not on invitation from Joe McGarrity, though some people let on
that it was, Joe met Russell only once in this period. Joe had been in
Germany some time before that with his daughters, but returned from
there feeling very fed up. I don’t think he liked the situation. We heard
no more from Russell until some time in the autumn of 1941 when
Gerald O'Reilly received a letter from Frank Ryan in Germany. He
showed it to me. There was one simple message. John has passed away .

I knew this must mean Russell. I went to St. John Gaffney, former
U.S. Consul General in Munich. He wrote a great book against British
propaganda called Breaking the Silence. You will have to get
confirmation of this for us, I said. Fine, / will call to the German Consul
General here; will you come with me? Not on your life , said I. You can
have business which you could explain to the F. B. /. They would never
believe me. Jim McGranery. the Attorney General, told me that he
had received a report from one agent that I should be locked up. Three
months before America entered the war 1 was not going to be
photographed entering the German Consulate. St. John Gaffney, very
obligingly, addressed the query and in due course received back a
confirmation of death. It gave no details.

Meanwhile Gerald O'Reilly, was pulled in by the F.B.I. They had
received some information about the exchange of notes. However,

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they chose not to treat the matter too seriously. It was only some years
after the end of the war that I heard the full story from Clissman about
the deaths of Russell and Ryan. You know all about that. It was a sad
and lonely end.

The Hayes Confession? Yes, it came here. Thousands of copies
were printed. I had to get around like lightning to stop the damned
thing. They had all these gory details. What would our people think of
the I.R.A. if that got about? Plenty of circumstantial evidence, yes,
but not a shred of real proof against anybody.

Moods and Memories

Joe meanwhile, had died. Fortunately, I was in with him every day
for five weeks before he passed away in August 1940. A disappointed,
harassed man. Almost the last task he delegated to me was to have his
Celtic Moods and Memories published. Over the years, as you know,
he jotted down simple poems about places and people back home in
Ireland. Missing from Termonmagurk , one such, lists the people he
used to know there, in his native townland. adjacent to Carrickmore.
There were hundreds more, all of them with great appeal to anyone
with a knowledge of that country.

He was very fed up with the Irish edition when he saw it. Larry De
Lacy handled it. When he was dying he said to me: they made a mess of
my hook in Ireland . Alright Joe , said I, ill take care of it. I got it
republished by Devin Adair. I have a copy here. I think we had a print
order of fifteen hundred copies. They were all bought up. It is a
collector's item now. I myself bought dozens and supplied them as
momentoes to Joe's friends. They were greatly appreciated.

At the start of World War Two, the mass of the people in the States
were jingo. The Irish, because they were neutral, were not popular by
any means. The Jews hated us. I recall Gogarty being invited, as
happened frequently, to one of these jingo groups, a gathering of
society ladies; a cocktail party. The discussion came up about Frank
McDermott, a man who hated Ireland and who wanted to hand back
the bases. What do you think. Mr. Gogarty? asked his hostess. A fine
man , is he not? Is it that fellow , said Gogarty. who had a habit of
speaking very fast. Is it him , is it? D'ye know he has a one third interest
in a widow!

What more devastating thing could be said. Liam O'Flaherty was
there too. Very pro Irish. It is an amazing thing when you leave here,
this island of saints, how national you become. I had been asked some
time before, what kind of speaker is Liam O'Flaherty. Oh , I said, he is
wonderful. A man with a beautiful singing voice. So I spoke to
O'Flaherty. Tell me , Connie , what kind of a crowd are they? They were

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judges and politicians, hut I did not labour that point with Liam
because I was keen to get him there. Oh, they are a fine body, pretty
national, in their own way, I said. Of course I was sceptical about that,
and I had good reason. O’Flaherty sensed this when he came. He could
feel the hostile atmosphere. To one of the first questions he replied in
that fine ringing voice of his. Why are we neutral? / will tel!you that . We
are neutral because we are battlewise. What a beautiful expression; it
sums up our story better than a book. And I tell you, shot out Liam, if
they come, there will be no Wailing Walt.

Frank Aiken came here in 1942 to purchase arms. Roosevelt refused
to meet him. Bill Cunningham of the Boston Herald Post lampooned
him with a locked up White House and a big notice on the door GONE
FISHING. Roosevelt, irritated, agreed to meet Aiken accompanied
by Robert Brennan, the ambassador. Reclining on a couch (he had
polio) the President received them in his study. He opened upon them
in a rapid fire of criticism, berating them for having spy nests, the
Japanese Consulate and the German Embassy, in Dublin. Gently,
Aiken pointed out. that up to a few months ago. there had been any
number of such offices in the U.S. They were interrupted by the entry
of General Watson with some urgent affairs of state, but they
remained there; they stuck their ground. Roosevelt became more
impatient while he spoke of the victims of German aggression. We are
not afraid of their aggression, said Aiken. The only aggression we are
afraid of is British aggression . I am afraid it brought a rapid end to the
interview^ 19)

REFERENCES

1 Lord Mayor MacCurtain was murdered in his home on 10th March. 1920 by plain
clothes assassins, later identified as members of the British Forces. Detective Inspector
Swanzy. one of those charged by the coroners jury, was transferred to Lisburn. Co.
Antrim, where five months later, an execution party from Cork No. I Brigade shot him.
Connie Neenan relates how in recent years he brought one of the executives of
American Airlines who had expressed an interest in the case into Lisburn, a noted
stronghold of Ulster lovalism.

2 On June 17th 1920 in Listowel. Divisional Commissioner Smyth of the R.LC. at a
private meeting told a group of the Force that in future they would be given a free hand
to shoot suspects. The I.R.A. decided to kill Smyth. A month later "Sandow”
accompanied by two others entered the County Club. Cork, and confronted Smyth. Mv
orders (ire to kill you, he said, as he drew a pistol, and tired repeatedly into Smyth before
withdrawing. "Sandow" masterminded the capture of garrison arms from Forts Camden
and Carlisle when the British were departing in February 1922.

3 When the Civil War came. Sean O’Hegarty, although always sympathetic to the
Republican cause, stayed aloof.

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CONNIE NEENAN

4 Augustus John had a long association with Ireland, and with the Irish litteratti. In
the early part of the century he had spent many holidays at L.ady Gregory's home at
Coolc.

5 If Ulster did not see her way to accept immediately the principle of a Parliament of
All Ireland .... it would be necessary to revise the boundary of Northern Ireland. This
might he done by a Boundary Commission .... Peace by Ordeal. Government papers
of January 1st 1981 show they never intended to leave.

6 May 20th 1922. Its intention was to avert dissension by presenting a common panel
of candidates at the forthcoming election upon the Treaty. British objections were
expressed to both Griffith and Collins, and the Pact was set aside by them.

7 There had been a groundswell in early June to accept a Pro Treaty Minister for
Defence and Chief of Staff, with some lesser appointments in the Army going to the
Republicans. This diminished greatly the standing of Liam Lynch, who recommended it.
among his own followers and contributed to the confusion prior to and immediately after
the attack upon the Four Courts. Lynch was then Chief of Staff of the Republican side
and many, notably Barry and O'Malley, felt that he had not got his heart in the struggle.

8 Connie Neenan. Sean MacBride (sec his account) and the writer Desmond
Greaves are all firm in their belief that it was on orders from Collins that Sir Henry
Wilson, former Chief of the Imperial Staff, and at this time military advisor to the Six
County government, was shot dead at 2.30 p.m. on 22nd June on the steps of his home in
Belgravia. His assailants, according to Greaves, were two London Irish Volunteers of
pro Treaty sympathies. Their names were Reginald Dunne and Joseph O'Sullivan. Both
were World War One veterans in which O'Sullivan lost a leg. Proper arrangements for
their escape had not been made. Dunne remained with his companion. Both were
arrested. They were tried before a bitterly partisan judge and hanged on August 16th. on
the same day that Collins marched behind Griffith's bier to Glasnevin. It is unlikely that
Griffith suspected the strange conspiracy in which this complex man was engaged. Yet it
was for that very reason that Churchill and Lloyd George ordered the attack upon the
Four Courts six days later.

It was not a delayed action order that Collins had failed to cancel. It was part of the
muddled anti Six County plotting in which he was engaged with the Republicans, in the
preceding months. On 31st May, writes Greaves in his Liam Mellows, while Collins and
Griffith sat in the gallery of the Commons. Wilson forced an undertaking from Churchill
to retain troops in Dublin. Rex Taylor in Assassination records that the order went from
Collins on the 8th June though, according to Neenan. it went in May. There is
corroboration of this in a note to the author from a certain Mr. J. of Dublin, whose
mother, from Castlecomer. was a courier in the Collins entourage. She informed her son
that she personally travelled to London with the order, and was met at Euston by Liam
Tobin, and Thornton, both reliable Collins men. In 1952 Joe Dolan of the squad
confirmed it was on Collins’s orders. On the day of the killing according to Gen. Joe
Sweeney in Curious Journey (1982), Collins admitted, yes, it is an official job. See also
Sunday Tribune, M. Maguire, 27th June 1982.

9 There is a considerable weight of evidence however against Lynch’s conduct of the
war as Chief of Staff. As already mentioned Barry and O’Malley show considerable
coolness. Noticeable in this excerpt is Connie's own lack of enthusiasm. Even Tom
Kelleher says: / blame Liam Lynch for retreating from Limerick. O'Malley makes many
references to the general inept response of the C.S. During the first month no definite
operation orders had been issued and in many instances Republicans awaited attack.
Slowly the resistance retrogressed back from some semi open fighting to disintegrated
guerilla war in which smaller and smaller columns and groups took part.

10 After some patchy action Lynch negotiated a truce with the National Army. No
doubt it came as a shock to Lynch when Collins blew' the truce to bits and ordered the
Republicans out of the town. Rex Taylor in Michael Collins.

CONNIE NEENAN

257

11 I he evidence is strong that Collins was interested only in winning the struggle and
speaking then from a position of strength. Three days before, Harry Boland, one of the
most indefatigable workers in the cause of freedom, was shot by Free State soldiers in
Skerries. Collins sent him a personal note couched in uncompromising terms, vou are
walking under false colours . If no words of mine will change your attitude, then vou are
beyond all hope .

12 Collins left Dublin on August 1 Ith, on an official tour of military posts in the
south. He visited Limerick but returned hastily to attend the funeral of Arthur
Griffith, the President, on the 16th August. Some days later, he resumed his
inspection, and on Sunday the 20th was in Mallow. They arrived in Cork that night. It
was evident that night and the next day that the Republicans were, at least, aware of
the presence of General Collins and there was in fact a meeting attended by Deasy.
Sean Lehane, Gibbs Rossand De Valera taking place near Beal na Blath itself. On the
21st. posts around Macroom were inspected. Tuesday the 22nd, the fatal day began at
6 a.m. The convoy consisted of a motor cycle scout, a Crossley with twelve men. an
open touring car carrying Collins. Major General Emmet Dalton, and two drivers,
with a Rolls Royce Whippet armoured car (Slievenamon) on the tail. They travelled
west to Skibbereen. then turned north east towards Bandon. which is only twenty
miles from Cork. Here they turned south to Clonakilty. his native town, where they
found entry blocked by felled trees. The significance of this welcome appears to have
been lost upon the General. They had breakfast there. Travelling northwards again,
he visited his old homestead, then turned south-west and called for the second time
that day to Skibbereen. They then approached Clonakilty again, and were informed
that there had been firing nearby. The convoy then proceeded northwards towards
Crookstown intending to enter Cork evidently by the Macroom Road. The ambush
occurred about 8 p.m. in failing light at a lonely part of the winding road. A large
column of Republicans were said to have awaited the party, but as they were delayed,
all were withdrawn except one section of five men. On hearing the first shot Collins,
although urged to drive on bv Dalton, halted the convoy and insisted on giving battle.
There was then considerable firing interspersed with some lulls for thirty minutes.
Then, according to Emmet Dalton who accompanied him. Collins advanced up the
centre of the road, calling back. Come on boys, and reloading his rifle at the same
time. At that moment he fell fatally wounded. The bullet had entered behind one of
his ears, portions of it splintering through his forehead.

Over the years, his death has been attributed to a ricochet bullet — from whom it is
not clear; even to members of his own party. “Anxious to get rid of him“ Dalton, one
of his English drivers. Private Corry. or others of the hastily recruited mercenaries in
the new army, being implicated. These stories were given further credence four
months later in November when the Scottish driver of the armoured car. John
MacPeake. deserted with the vehicle to the Republican side. Had he wished however,
he could not have done it as his gun had ceased firing for some time. Dalton casts
opprobrium upon him, however by this remark: the armoured car ‘jammed* after a
short time. The machine gunner MacPeake. not long after this occurrence deserted to
the Irregulars. Aodhagan O Rahilly in the Irish Times of 22nd September 1981 confirms
much of the above. Collins was a heavy drinker, and this was well known in Republican
circles. Only two of the ambush party were still on site, he says. Sec O Rahilly again
in the Irish Times of 26th September 1984.

The Cork Examiner of November 5th 1985 gives prominence to a claim by an
unnamed volunteer from East Kerry to the deed but it seems an unlikely coincidence.

All the evidence however, points strongly to the ambush party having been
responsible. There was nothing squeamish for Collins being there in his new found task
of suppressing the Republic; there should be nothing squeamish in the remembrance of
the ambush, for those who sought that evening at Beal na Blath to defend it.

258

CONNIE NEENAN

13 John MacPeake was released from Maryborough (Portlaoise) Prison on the 4th
August 1928 and given a travel voucher to Dublin. Most of his time was spent in solitary
confinement. Both his parents died while he was there. A small fund was raised by
Dublin Republicans, and sixty pounds was presented to him.

14 / have seen with satisfaction that the mischief making murderous renegade . Erskine
Childers, has been captured . No man has done more harm .... upon the common people
of Ireland than this strange being actuated by a deadly and malignant hatred for the land of
his birth, at Dundee on November 12th. 1922.

15 After military courtmartial in Beggars Bush Barracks on November 24th.

16 The I.R.A. Executive in July 1923 decided that the Volunteers should be
permitted to leave only if it was to work for the cause, to recover after illness, to learn a
trade or profession in order to return. It was reaffirmed in January 1924 after some
opposition from Kerry.

17 Sean Cronin has this to say of t hat mission: His mission lasted eighteen months. He
addressed many meetings, raised a lot of money but failed to win recognition for the
Republic. Part of the trouble may have been the confusion in his own mind about the
position: he was essentially a conservative, not a revolutionary. In an interview with an
American journalist a month after the founding meeting of the First Dail, he ignored the
Republic of which he was supposed to be the head and harped on ‘self determination ’. His
Cuban interx'iew with the Westminister Gazette a year later was an almost fatal blow to the
Republican position; he rebuffed an offer of recognition by the Soviet Government,
fearing no doubt, it would harm his efforts in Washington. At any rate, as far as
recognition of the Republic was concerned his mission to America was a failure.

The text of his statement to the Westminister Gazette was as follows: The United States
by the Munroe Doctrine made provision for its security without depriving the Latin
Republics of the south of their independence and their life. The United States safeguarded
itself from the possible use of the island of Cuba as a base for an attack by a foreign power
by stipulating that the government of Cuba shall never enter into any treaty or other
compact with any foreign Power, or Powers, which will impair the independence of Cuba,
nor in any manner authorise or permit any foreign Power or Powers to obtain, by
colonisation or for military or naval purposes or otherwise, lodgement in or control over
any portion of the island’.

Why doesn ’t Britain make a stipulation like this to safeguard herself against foreign
attack . as the United States did with Cuba? Why doesn’t Britain declare a Munroe
Doctrine for the two neighbouring islands? The people of Ireland so far from objecting
would co-operate with their whole soul.

Dr. Pat McCartan. Liam Mellows. Harry Boland, and James O’Mara. all members of
Dail Eireann accompanying De Valera were not consulted. The statement came to us like
a thunderbolt, McCartan said. De Valera opens the door, wrote The Globe: this statement
is a withdrawal by the official head of the Irish Republic of the demand that Ireland be set
free to decide her own international relations . There is an account of McCartan’s life
in an obituary notice of March 1963.

18 Bishop David Moriarty, of Kerry, on the Fenians. March 1867.

19 It has long since emerged that the U.S. State Department will not sanction arms
sales to Ireland without the consent of Britain. Gerald O’Reilly, mentioned by Connie,
page 253, is long an active Republican. He assisted the rescue from Mountjoy in Octo¬
ber, 1925 of Jim Killeen, Dave Fitzgerald and Michael Clerkin. He returned to Ireland
in recent years.

259

Dan

Gleeson

of Ballymackey, Nenagh.
Volunteer Toomevara Coy IRA,
accompanied by his friends,
Jack Molony, Ned Shea and
Liam Carroll of the IRA.

I come from a Fenian tradition, especially upon my mother’s side.
Burke was her maiden name. She was from near Templederry. Her
mother was a Kenny; all of them were involved some way in the land
struggle. One of that family, Martin, was a great patriot in his own
way; he wrote simple local poems, some of which I have here in a
booklet. The parish priest of Templederry was one of the three Johns
of the Young Ireland movement; he was Fr. John Kenyon, then there
was John Martin and John Mitchel. I myself knew well the late
Jeremiah Burke; now he did not go back the whole way to the Fenians,
but he was a member of the Brotherhood. When he died in the fifties,
we spoke of him as a survivor of the Fenian period and we gave him a
firing party.

My father was a small farmer and blacksmith. I do not think he ever
played an active part in the Fenians; he was only a boy then, having
been born in 1855, but he could recall some of the mobilisations they
had in this neighbourhood. We have beside us here the Devil’s Bit, or
Bearnan Mountain, as it is called, where a lot of them asssembled with
pikes and pitch forks, though it never came to anything. Sometime
then my father was given the task of guiding one of the American
officers who came over on the “Erin’s Hope” and disembarked near
Dungarvan. He merely had to bring him to a certain house, but he used
to talk about it for years afterwards.

In later years he was involved locally in William O’Brien’s United
Irish League, to the extent that he used follow keenly in the Cork
Weekly Examiner all the debates in the House of Parliament. The local
baker from Cloughjordan used to bring the bread to us weekly. I can
remember him rushing in this day: oh William, he shouted. Home Rule
is on the Statute Book. Well, it was, but it was not going to make much
difference to us.

There was a woeful military presence here at that time by the

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DAN GLEESON

British. Though they never expected any trouble, they had garrisons
then in all the principal towns, in Nenagh, Templemore, Birr,
Clonmel. Fethard and dozens of other places.

My first military experience was after the Volunteers were founded
in 1913. They had local committees everywhere. I was too young to
join them, but I used to follow them around from place to place
especially in the long evenings of 1914. Everybody was in them. I got a
great thrill watching them. They would have a route march on the
Sunday and we would all follow on. Their main inspiration was to fight
Carson's Army. There was a wonderful revival at that time in the
hurling around Toomevara. A local poet. Danny Keogh, composed
the lines about the famous “greyhounds" and Wedger Maher:

I wish to God Ned Carson could get a look at you;

He'd stow away his foreign guns.

Go home to eating currant buns.

If he heard Toomevara give the war cry of Abu.

We knew of the great Dublin strike of 1913, when it came off,
though we could not pretend to understand the conditions in the city
slums. A cousin had a shop in Nenagh and I can remember the
youngsters dancing upon the pavement and singing a sort of ditty:

Yes, we'll join: Yes. we'll join;

We'll join Jim Larkin's union.

As soon as the war started however. Redmond caved in and called
for support for England. They held meetings around the country to
drum up support for themselves. My father attended a convention of
the United Irish Party in Thurles. As soon as one of these resolutions
was put forward and passed he and two others left the meeting. That
was him finished with it.

The movement throughout the country fell apart. It had lost its
inspiration for young people. Some of those who were loudest in
calling to ‘resist Carson' appeared on recruiting platforms afterwards.
There was no chance however of their insidious propaganda having the
slightest effect upon us. As far as our family was concerned, it was one
of complete resentment and resistance to the idea of going to fight for
England. There were six girls and six boys in our family, and none of
them felt in the least bit inclined. My elder brother. Patrick, who was
the most politicised of any of us, and was afterwards shot by the Staters
in 1923. had the best knowledge of what was afoot. Lord Wimbourne
had issued a circular to everyone of military age, inviting them to join;
we used to sing afterwards how we had kept out of England’s war.

DAN GLEESON

2ft 1

Maybe it was a “Johnny 1 Hardly Knew Ye” song, but we knew alright
the road we wanted to go, and it did not lead in the direction of
Flanders.

My recollections of 1916 were limited to what I could read in the
Nenagh News or the Nenagh Guardian. There was a brief report of a
rebellion in Dublin. Soon, however, the magic began to work.
Practically everyone connected with hurling and the Gaelic League
became involved. I remember well one evening, we were hurling there
by the church, when Wedger Maher and James Devany — he was
killed afterwards in the Tan War in Kilruane —came along. We went
into this old house; it is still there. Wedger produced this document,
and six of us joined the Volunteers on the spot. That was October,
1917, after the Rising. We formed our own section, part of the
Toomevara company, with Wedger Maher as captain, and from there
on the activities built up.

Our first big outing was the following St. Stephen’s Day. We
assembled in Toomevara and marched to Moneygall. At that time, I
know, they had not organised in Moneygall; we were going there to
shake them up. We had some military equipment, caps, bandoliers and
bayonets, collected from ex-members of Redmond’s Volunteers who
no longer needed them. We were not yet known as the I.R.A.; we
came to be known by that name after 1919.

There were two sections of the Toomevara company at this end of
the parish. Another brother of mine was section leader in one, while
another Gleeson, Jack, was leader of the other. Paddy Ryan, another
great hurler, was second lieutenant. Soon we were two companies
around Toomevara, with Cloughjordan another and Moneygall
another. Between them they formed a properly structured battalion
of more then three hundred men. In time we became the second
battalion of the North Tipperary Brigade, which eventually had seven
battalions.

Meanwhile Sinn Fein Cumann were being formed apace, although I
was never a member of it. In circumstances like this, however,
something must happen to cause greater momentum or a movement
will ebb, and England now made the mistake of increasing the
momentum to feverpitch. Early in 1918, she threatened to impose
conscription. It was the greatest boost we could have got. They all
flocked in. I remember the massive demonstrations; I remember one
in Nenagh, everyone wearing badges. Death Before Conscription .
Priests, professional men and everybody were on the platforms. There
was a Fr. Gaynor, he would be an uncle of the wife of Seamus Costello,
and I remember him declaring — The right place for the bullet from an
Irish rifle is in the heart of an Englishman. Needless to say that went
down well.

262

DAN GLEESON

From now on we were perfecting a proper military machine through
training classes, raiding for arms, intelligence and arranging dumps,
supplies and transport. We were gradually moving from a phase of
uneasy peace to one of hostilities. Then on January 19th, 1919, came
Soloheadbeg, and you know the line — At Soloheadbeg the war began.

That is how we saw it anyway, and as it was right here in our own end
of the country, it had more meaning for us than for anybody. Numbers
of our company had been sent to Wormwood Scrubs already. There
was a strong police and military presence, and some meetings had been
banned. But now we were moving to something else. The many
meetings and parades were building up to something else.

The Shooting of D. I. Hunt
On 23rd June, 1919, District Inspector Hunt was shot dead in broad
daylight in the Market Square in Thurles by a Volunteer named Jim
Stapleton, accompanied by some others. Stapleton was not a great
shot but he crept up close to him, said Liam Carroll, and he went on to
quote:

It was racing day in Thurles town,

A time of great excitement;

Inspector Hunt came walking round.

In search of enlightenment.

Everyone enjoyed the run.

From merchant to cattle dealer.

But in the middle of the fun.

Pop goes a Peeler.

Jack Moloney chipped in here with another version:

At the races of Thurles, Mike Hunt he was there.

The police and soldiers drawn up in the rere.

When a bullet came whizzing quite close to my head.

And the next thing I heard Mike Hunt was shot dead.

Jim Stapleton had earlier on put paid to the account of another
R.I.C. man, Wilson, in Templemore. They were both garrison towns.
To succeed therefore in shooting a top policeman in each of them was
quite a feat, especially as he made good his escape in each case.

On one side then you had the condemnations that immediately
followed these early actions. It was very vociferous and loud, and

DAN GLEESON

263

hard to withstand. Inevitably, however, it was also building up the
morale of the men who were determined to see the thing through no
matter what condemnations were rained down upon us.

Then suddenly two policemen were shot dead at Lorrha. right here
in our end of the county. Needless to say there were condemnations
everywhere, but the thing was gathering momentum.(l) Police
barracks were attacked in other places, so here in North Tipperary we
took a decision that something like this should be done too. The first
operation of any account was an attack on a police barracks at
Borrisokane. Not all of us could join in the actual attack. The way it
was then a huge area around would be sealed off by blocking the roads,
and many would be engaged in that. The only fatal casualty — there
were a couple wounded — was the uncle of the present Minister
Michael O’Kennedy. He was on the roof at the time, trying to break it
and pour in the oil, when he was hit. It was our baptism of fire. Jack
Maloney’s brother, Paddy, was at Borrisokane in his khaki uniform,
while Jack manned a group on the Nenagh-Borrisokane road. There
was no hope of getting them out from the roof as they had their upstairs
floor sandbagged. Paddy entered next door. From there he could
reach the chimney. Let me, he said, drop a few grenades straight down
into their fireplace . That will root them out. However, the O.C. would
not agree to this. Constable McKenzie was killed; one of our lads,
Jimmy O’Meara, of Toomevara was wounded. Jack Maloney
subsequently joined the flying column under Sean Collison; there was
Austin MacCurtain too, but Sean Glennon was our hero. So cool in
any situation; he wasan ex-Irish Guards man. Only for him they would
not have got out of the Modrenny ambush, but we will come to that
later.

Some were at Borrisokane who had rifles, and some were hoping, if
we captured the barracks, to acquire them. It lasted a few hours and we
were getting anxious. As I say, we had the roads blocked, but Nenagh
and Birr were not faraway. There were big military garrisons there and
we had to pay attention to that. Then something happened in the
Terryglass direction; lights were seen approaching. It was a false
alarm, but the operation was called off. Anyway it was well worthwhile
even though it glamourised a lot of lads. You know he was at
Borrisokane , became a saying about certain people, and if you were
out five miles away, blocking a road, you got no mention.

Things went on building up from that. There were the usual attacks
on policemen, seizure of mails, blowing bridges. We had a flying
column now. I was not in it, but we had the task of mounting security
and finding safe billets for them. Still I must say the spirit that time was
so good that the chances of betrayal were very remote. Needless to say
if anyone did do that the punishment would be severe.

264

DAN GLEESON

James and Tom Devany

James Devany of Toomevara, whom I have mentioned earlier, was
in the column. Between here and Nenagh there was a country pub
which was being rebuilt. They had a bar out in a shed in the yard pro
tern. Four of them went in to have a drink, or more likely to find a quiet
place for conversation. At this time, the Tans were on the go and they
had a platoon in Cloughjordan. They brought supplies by Crossley
tender from Nenagh. The tender was seen approaching so they all ran
out.There was a shooting affray. The Tans did not even pull up. They
thought they were being ambushed, so they poured a fusillade into the
yard and into the shed. It was one of those that accounted for Devany.
James was badly wounded and died shortly afterwards. The other
three got away.

I happened to be at the market that day in Cloughjordan when the
lorry came in at great speed. Instantly the rumours ran around that
there had been an ambush at Kyle, a good spot for one, but it was not
that. James’s brother, Thomas, was killed shortly after by the Tans. He
was a member of my company, one of our officers, and one of the finest
men I have ever met. He had a great sense of military style, combined
with innate flair and ability, which it was surprising to find in one that
grew up upon a small farm in the countryside. The lads had picked up
this stranger in Toomevara who had arrived in, and whom they were
suspicious of. He was brought to a house nearby(2) and tried, but
acquitted. Only Paddy Whelan was against letting him go. He was an
enemy spy, however, and he led the military back to Devany’s. They
lay in wait and shot Thomas as he came in from the fields. That was
only a few weeks after the death of his brother. It was a harsh double
tragedy for his parents.

There was an order sent down a while before that to have a go at the
R.I.C. in Toomevara. This may have been October. 1920, because the
devotions were on at the time and people were being asked to pray for
peace. Anyway one night at the far end of the village, they walked into
an ambush set for them and two R.I.C. men were shot dead. There was
another ambush planned, the Middle Walk ambush, beside the
Nenagh to Cloughjordan railway but it never took place. The road was
trenched and all preparations were made. The only person allowed
through was a priest serving a parish close to Nenagh. It is thought that
he informed the military. They did not come at the appointed time.
Instead they came out the Birr road and came over Ballygiven hill, but
our lads got wind of their approach and were gone.

MODRENNY

I come back now to the Modrenny ambush. It was very skilfully

DAN GLEESON

265

carried out. By this time the training had reached a high pitch of
efficiency. It was planned on the Cloughjordan-Borrisokane road at
the point where it is intersected by the Nenagh-Birr road known as the
Blackbush corner. First you must understand a little more of the
geography. Below here is the Nenagh-Cloughjordan road. Then there
is another to the north west that we will call the Birr road. There are
small hills in between. It is almost parallel with the first one. The Tans
and military were coming from Borrisokane. The first portion was a
cycling column, about a dozen men, followed by two lorries. They
came under the fire of a unit armed with shotguns, an auxiliary unit
chosen for that purpose. At such close quarters they wiped them out.
1 hat meant twelve lovely rifles for us and some ammunition.

The main battle however took place with the lorries. All the lads
engaging them had rifles; they formed the main body of the column.
From where I was. I was not in it, I could hear all the shots and I must
say they thrilled me to the core. It was a completely successful ambush.
As far as I can remember then, Sean Gaynor was O.C. of the Brigade
and Sean Collison was O.C. of the Column. I liked him well and I
admired the family even though he took the Free State side after. He
and a companion called Austin MacCurtain were killed in an
engagement with Republicans in Laois later on. Sean Glennon was
another good man in the Column. He had been in the Irish Guards. He
played a big part with us because he had such wide experience. He
helped greatly to build the military capacity. He was one of those men
who insisted, no drink, no smokes, no nothing. He was an out and out
disciplinarian. One other experience that I should mention was a
decision we made to defend our creamery at Toomevara. It was Tan
policy to burn these as reprisals. The creamery in Nenagh had already
been burned together with six business premises. We expected this
time that they might try to burn ours, so we met in a place called
The Sandpits. Wedger was O.C. Now he was great at giving
encouragement, but as a military man he had not a clue. First of all we
were being asked to proceed from where we were billeted, across an
open field, into the jaws of what could have been a trap. We would
have been like sitting ducks inside the creamery building. It was not a
thing that Sean Collison would have done. A lot of the lads had no
weapons. There were a few rifles, some shotguns and short arms. Then
the order was given; Everyone with a weapon stand up. I had none, but
just at that moment someone pushed one into my hand. However,
although lorries of Tans passed close to us that day, the creamery was
not attacked and we were able to withdraw from what might have
become a precarious situation.

I can say that in the winter and spring of 1920-21, there was hardly a
night that we were not out. blocking roads or lying in wait somewhere.

266

DAN GLEESON

In many ways the Column had it easier than we had. They were
full-time at it and could rest. We had to do our work next day. I must
say this for all the fellows I came in contact with, they did not know
what fear was. They never considered what they were up against, the
kind of enemy and its equipment. Against this they pitched only
simplicity and faith. They all believed it was victory or nothing else,
that we were winning and going to win. There was no despondency
when someone was killed; it was a sacrifice of course, but it instilled
more determination and energy to go on with the struggle and to win.

A Pause But Not a Victory

When the Truce came I had no doubt about it. It wasa pause, but not
a victory. Unfortunately the great bulk of the lads thought they had
won, and were lulled into this by the accolades poured upon people
like Collins as the man who had won the war. (3) In the circumstances,
the fact that it was the contribution of the whole people and not the
effort of any single person or personalities was overlooked.
Personalities became overvalued while the unity within the movement
declined. Meanwhile the Truce was availed of in many ways. Lads on
the run could come home again. Some were released from prison.
There were celebrations and a general air of relaxation. I have to hand
it to the English that they understand so well the psychology of this
kind of thing. They knew what would happen. Once the lads came
home, frequently as conquering heroes, they would have no wish to go
out again. That is the great danger when a volunteer army stands
down. There was even the humourous side, when fellows that had
never been out tried to appear like men of the column; they would get
an old trench coat and strap on leggings and boots. That part of it was
harmless and sure no one would know the difference.

I would say that the vast majority of our company were against the
Treaty when the terms were announced. It had a dampening effect
however, all the old enthusiasm seemed to fade, to drain away from us.
We had all thought for sure we would be together again rather than
accept this, and here we were wasting our time and bickering among
ourselves by debating it.

I remember in February. 1922. I attended an anniversary Mass for
Thomas Devany. Afterwards there was a discussion with some of the
Brigade officers present. Five or six of us were told to be ready the
following Monday. We would be collected and brought to a certain
place. More were taken from Nenagh and others from Roscrea. We
were brought to Maryborough, where we were installed in the military
barracks which had just been handed over to Padraig MacLogan. We
still considered ourselves one army, the Republican Army. There was

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no discord among us at that time. Besides which full-time soldiering
had a certain fascination for me. I enjoyed being out on parade in the
dark of the morning. Sean Glennon was O.C. of the barracks, and we
fulfilled all the functions of a garrison. The evacuation was not
complete. The Tans were still in the police barracks, but it was only a
matter of time before that was handed over also.

' Tension

Then, when Birr barracks was taken over, Sean Glennon went
there, and another great favourite of mine. Commandant Joe Mangan,
killed afterwards on active service, was put in charge. I was so close to
Joe, that I could nearly say I was second in command. We were there
anyway for some weeks training away when the whispering began.
Things are not going well , they said. Small disputes and rumours were
inflated. Then on a Friday close to Easter, fifteen of us were brought
by lorry to Nenagh. From there it was arranged that we would travel by
train to Limerick. We marched down to William Street barracks,
which had been occupied by the Auxiliaries, but which they had now
evacuated. I must say they left it in stinking condition. That weekend
the first real military split occurred in Limerick. Thirty of us occupied
King John’s Castle, still a barracks, while we listened to the rumours of
what was happening outside. The Cork Brigade, under Barry, had
arrived and was occupying hotels on behalf of the Republicans. We
represented the 3rd Southern, the O.C. of which was Sean Gaynor,
comprising five brigades from North Tipperary, Offaly 1 and 2, Laois 1
and 2. (Second Southern covered mid-Tipperary and that area. First
Southern was primarily Cork. )

We were there exactly a week when we were brought together and
paraded in a room. This officer, a fine cut of a man, came in. It was
none other than Commandant Mick Brennan of Clare. He was Free
State C hief of Staff later. He addressed us and this was the substance of
it ‘.There would be no other army other than the Irish Republican A rmy.
The reasons we had accepted the situation created by the Treaty was
because it gave us an opportunity to train , to get arms and to build up an
efficient military force. When all this was done , he had no doubt but that
the fight would go on.

A great many lads, probably Brennan himself, sincerely and
honestly believed that that was how things would proceed. That
evening we got our vouchers to go on the train to Birr where we took
over the barracks there. Parades and training continued as before. We
were still a united army, or at least the 3rd Southern was. Yet
underneath it somewhere lurked an air of discontent, of misgiving,
that no one could put a finger upon, and that no speeches or arguments

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DAN GLEESON

could dispel. One of the factors contributing maybe to this was that
half of the barracks was occupied by 120 men of the First Eastern, fully
rigged out in Free State uniform, under a Captain Boylan, with a
Lieutenant Mooney under him. They were there on their own and
were in no way subject to any of our officers. You could see from this
that something was brewing, something that we did not understand.
We were not in uniform ourselves, we had just Sam Brownes and
trench coats, short arms and some rifles. There were men there, Paul
McKenna, a great hurler, Danny Costello, Tom Lawless and Jim
O'Meara and more that 1 knew very well, and of course Sean Glennon
was still O.C. I remember this day I was in charge of the guard. Birr
barracks is laid out like a big H with an archway through the cross bar
and a clock over it. 1 had to go back for something; as I returned I met
this person obviously coming in to join. 1 was surprised because I
recognised him asI.O. of our Second Battalion. I think a lot of the lads
are thinking of getting out, I told him. Are they? said he. advancing,
carrying a small pasteboard suitcase. Yes, said I, and / may not stay too
long myself Who was he, but the man we knew in later years as
General Michael J. Costello. That was the last time I ever met him.

Then this morning we all got notice to appear on parade; no one was
excused, not even the First Eastern. We paraded in one of the squares
facing east when an officer mounted a few steps to address us. It was a
carefully chosen moment. The sunlight fell upon his figure as he made
the briefest address you could imagine: All who are prepared to stand in
defence of the Republic, take one step forward.

The First Eastern did not stir. They would have to have a direction
on this, said an officer. Nor did Michael J. Costello. He remained
where he was. The rest of us all stepped briskly forward. And at that
moment Birr barracks became a stronghold of the Republic. Men had
entered the quarters of the First Eastern and removed their rifles and
equipment, all British supplied anyway. There was nothing they could
do now except march out. And the officer who came to address us? It
was none other than Andy Cooney.

Thereafter we continued with our military routine as before. A
detachment was however sent to Mullingar where trouble was
brewing. Actual hostilities had not yet opened up however when I was
transferred to Roscrea, to what is still the police barracks. One story I
must relate though, before I leave Birr completely. I remember a
morning in April when a squadron of small vans arrived from the
north of Ireland. At that time the roads were not tarmacadamed the
way they are today. It was easy to see from the way they were covered
in a fine white dust that they had travelled far. I remember looking
closely at them and I recognised the number plates of Tyrone and
Derry under the grime. They stayed overnight, and the next morning

DAN GLEESON

269

they disappeared terribly early. They were proceeding to what we later
learned was a rendezvous near Ballynagaul, Co. Waterford. That
evening they returned again and it was clear from the way they sat
down on their wheels that they were loaded down with something,
weapons we supposed. Those were the guns brought on the schooner
Hannah. It was part of the build-up to where we expected the final
stage of the struggle would be fought.

Meanwhile Joe Mangan was placed in charge of our forces in
Nenagh. I was at home when I heard of the attack upon the Four
Courts. I must say the bulk of us never thought it would come to that. I
returned at once to the barracks at Roscrea. We were ordered to
vacate that evening and proceed to the assistance of Nenagh where
hostilities had already started. When we neared it however, we found
our lads in retreat out of it. There was no cohesion and no plan of
campaign. We had arrived to support Nenagh only to find they were
leaving it. We had evacuated Roscrea. and we left our strong point in
Birr a short while after. After that we were fooling around here and
there, not too sure of what action we should take. Wedger Maher was
in charge for a while, but he gave up a short time after and took no
further part in the struggle.

Turmoil in Athlone

Liam Carroll of Roscrea. an officer of the I.R.A. at that time,
interjected here to explain that he and a party of five volunteers were
in Athlone on the night of 24th April, that the Free State officer.
Brigadier George Adamson, was shot dead. It was one of the unruly
events that in retrospect was used to precipitate civil war, although at
the time disclaimed and condemned by the Republican forces. There
were six of us, said Liam. And / forget now what purpose we had being
there. Tom Burke, also known as Squint Burke, Brigade O.C., Offaly,
I recall, was a member of our party. We arrived in a Model T Ford, and
were lodged in C laxton s Hotel, now rebuilt as the Prince of Wales
Hotel. Shooting started outside, and Free State soldiers seemed to be
all over the place, rht six ol us left the hotel at once and crossed into
the old churchyard which is still there. There was a terrific hullaballoo
going on all around. We had no idea at the time what was happening,
our sole desire was to stay out of whatever trouble was afoot. We
therefore made our way out of Athlone that night. The next day
however, on learning what had happened, I came back in and took
possession of the motorcar which had been untouched. Along with
some of the others I sat into the car and drove home, back to
Banagher.

Following this, continued Liam, an inquiry was held in Mullingar,

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DAN GLEESON

into the shooting of George Adamson, at which I was present. It was
held in the courthouse, then garrisoned by Jack Maloney (who was
present during this conversation) along with other Republican forces
under the command of Tom Lawless. Sean Gaynor, our Divisional
O.C., was in Mullingar for it. The inquiry broke up in disorder. There
were some very angry words and guns were drawn. This was the
prelude to the attack which followed that very night by Free State
forces upon the courthouse and other Republican posts in Mullingar,
which resulted in their evacuation(4). Following this, Millmount in
Drogheda was bombarded. One could say that the shooting of George
Adamson in Athlone — which Republicans believe was done by one of
McKeon's bodyguard — precipitated an attack on posts in towns
across the country and their loss to the Republican forces.

Meanwhile, continued Liam, Bill White, a veterinary student from
the Ferbane district, who was good on chemistry, and had learned
some of his stuff from Sean Russell and Jim O'Donovan, was making
Irish cheddar, the so-called war flour, by the barrel. Co-operating with
him was Paddy O'Meara of Crinken, near Birr. He had a foundry
going there which successfully cast the grenade case, the spring
mechanism, neck and all. He did not need much instruction to get
going, just half a look at a thing. He had an old Ford car rigged up,
interjected Jack, blowing the bellows, that was keeping the molten
metal hot. The moulds were made by Kieran Neligan, a blacksmith
from near Johnstown.

The reason why Squint Burke was pulled so quickly from Mullingar,
chipped in Liam at this point, was because there came an SOS from
H.Q. in Dublin to stop McKeon breaking out of Athlone and moving
south into Limerick, where our forces held some of the posts. I had
been engineer with Offaly No. 2, and the hair often stands on my head
these days, when I read about explosions and consider the chances we
used to take. What with carrying around biscuit tins of war flour, cans
of parafin wax, sticks of gelignite in your pocket to soften them up, it is
a wonder there were not far more accidents.

It was thought McKeon might come down the Shannon by boat. Our
First assignment therefore was to immobilise the Victoria Lock on the
Shannon Canal, which we did. Between that and Borris-in-Ossory we
then blew twenty-three bridges. I can remember well boring the holes in
the middle of the road, putting down plenty of the war flour, shooving
down sticks of gelignite, then going back with a car battery and ducking
my head as I pressed the contacts. How we escaped I don't know.

Twilight

An attack was made about this time on the Free State held barracks

DAN GLEESON

271

in Nenagh, and the Republican Commandant in charge, Jimmy Nolan,
was killed. I was suffering from pneumonia at the time, continued
Dan, and had no part in that. There were a good many engagements in
North Tipperary as the Free Staters continued mopping up. I still had
no active part in any of these. Some of us continued to hope that this
was only a passing phase, and that we would all be together again.

Jack Maloney came in here with a story that illuminates the
harassment and the hopelessness of the Republican situation in late
1922. Myself and Paddy and Charlie Nolan were sent to meet four of
the party of 99 that had escaped from a tunnel out of Newbridge. Two
were from Kerry and two were from Limerick. They were Jackie Price,
McKenna, Coffey and Tim Healy. We were all on straw in a fine new
house up in Summerhill. This morning early I heard the noise of a
Crossley. When I looked out I saw the Staters coming up the hill in
open formation. They were clearly making for where we lay. We
rushed out without coats and lay in a mountain drain where the water
poured down upon us. Paddy Temple saw them then come down the
hill towards the house where they were joined by the force that had
come from below. Without delay we crept upwards, still keeping inside
the fold of the drain. We kept on the mountain before swinging across
to a big house where the caretaker was Tony McDowell. We were
barely in when Paddy says, there is something telling me not to stop here
tonight. So out we ail went again and over to Paddy Hayes where we
lodged in the haybam. We were all half soaked and without raincoats.
Next morning Mrs. O’Meara came out with a bucketful of fresh boiled
blue duck eggs, a kettle of tea and fresh home-made bread. Did we feel
at peace with life again? I'll say we did! But we had to help our four
escapees along. So reluctantly we set out again across Coolroe bog,
with Paddy in front. He was a divil to walk. Then taking this big step
forward, we saw him sink to his shoulders in a green patch that he took
to be grass. Well, the curse of Jasus on De Valera, he cried, as he
dragged himself out of it. We reached Bill Quinlan’s of Ballinakill, a
good old house. There was no woman in the place. Bill and the brother
lived alone, looking after themselves. Oh, sure boys, it won't be long
till we feed ye, as he shook flour upon the middle of his table. Then with
plenty of spuds still in their jackets, hot griddle bread and a slab of
farmer’s butter in their stomachs, the famished lads rolled in again on
top of the hay.

The executions started in November and continued on every month,
Dan went on. That put all ideas about a coming together out of our
heads. Commandant Joe Mangan got in touch with me then. He had
no time for a few fellows running around aimlessly. Would / join an
active service unit to defend the Republic? 1 said I would. Just at that
time, however, the Free Staters in Cloughjordan raided our house and

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DAN GLEESON

arrested my brother Paddy and another fellow. They had come on
bicycles, so they made the prisoners walk before them into the town.
They were there only a few hours, and that evening — it was Friday,
3rd March, —a Lieutenant Flanagan, he was from somewhere around
Portarlington, accompanied by an officer, whose name I have too,
from Dublin, entered. Doyou wantto visit the toilet? they said. Itwasa
W.C. in the yard outside. Ah, sure no, said Paddy. Well, this is your last
chance before we lock you up for the night, said Flanagan. Alright so,
said Paddy again. I'll go. As he crossed the yard, he was shot dead from
behind. One of their soldiers that was on the guard that night gave me
the whole story just a few years ago. It was an unofficial killing, one of
many, but it was passed off with the excuse that he had been shot while
trying to escape. And at the time, with control of the newspapers and
everything else in their hands, no one could question it. The real
reason we knew was that there had been a big round-up of the Column
attempted a few days before near Moneygall, a round-up that failed,
and some of their men were shot in the subsequent action.

I did not get the chance after that to take any part. Within six days
Commandant Joe Mangan himself was mortally wounded in an action
near Nenagh. It was the end virtually of the struggle in this area.
Offensive action was suspended throughout the nation on the 30th
April, and that was followed by the “dump arms" order on May 24th.

As for me, said Liam, I was caught under extraordinary circum¬
stances in March 1923. We were then only a small unit in the
Rathcabban area, between Portumna and Banagher. It was the dying
days of the Civil War and there were not many of us left. I found myself
near the Blue Ball about three miles from Tullamore. Paddy O’Meara,
Mick Seery from South Offaly ASU, Mick Carroll, Peter Kelly and
Dick Whelan who had been a member of Sean McKeon's unit, formed
our group. We had temporary quarters in an old mansion there. We
had some terrific escapes because we were being closely pursued by a
Free State officer who had been active with us in the Tan war. One
morning, I don’t know what came over me, but I said to the lads, get
into the boat on the lake and row out to the island. Lying there in the
bullrushes, we watched the place being ransacked for us. I made my
way from there accompanied by Martin Morris. We commandeered a
car preparatory to joining a unit under Joe Mangan and Sean Daly at
Pollenagh. Dolla. Proceeding along we found ourselves blocked by a
party of soldiers. A few days after that Sean Daly, Joe Mangan and the
few lads with them were surrounded at Tullymoylan and Mangan was
killed.

I was taken from Birr to Wellington Barracks and then on to
Gormanston where there were about 1.2(H) prisoners. Most of them
were from the south of Ireland, although the camp was under the

DAN GLEESON

273

control of the Dublin Brigade. Among them were Sean T. O'Kelly.
Paddy Houlihan. Oscar Traynor. Mick Tallon, Sean O Muineachain
and others. (Tom Barry had escaped by walking out of the camp just a
few days after I arrived. I will always remember it because he came
south through Lorrha afterwards, where I come from, and on his way
collected a Thompson machine gun. the only one we had. and brought
it on to Cork with him.) There was a tunnel going of course, but it was
confronted with more technical difficulties than the usual tunnel.
Gormanston. as far as I know, was a creation of the First World War
and much of it was built upon made ground close to the beach. To
tunnel out it was necessary to go below this made ground, to the solid
earth and work on from there. I was at it for months on end. making
straight across the camp in the direction of an old quarry outside the
perimeter at the north end. We were within about a week of realising
our ambition when, with scarcely any notice, we were moved. Most of
us went to the cavalry barracks in Newbridge, where every part of it.
including the stables, were used to house prisoners. Lo and behold,
there was another tunnel proceeding there. However. I did not see
much of that as I was taken out and placed for some weeks in the
glasshouse in the Curragh. From there I was transferred to Birr, where
I was charged with robbery under arms. This was harkening back to my
activity of March, the previous year, when I had commandeered a
motor car. We were tried in Nenagh. but the lad from whom I took the
car failed to turn up so the case was dismissed. It was early summer of
1924, and I was released. My brother, who was imprisoned at the same
time, was released a while before me.

Jack Maloney came in here. I was in Roscrea on the morning ot 15th
Janutiry. 1923. when four Volunteers(5) were executed. One of them.
Martin O Shea, was the brother of Ned present with us. There was a
Mrs. Eileen Phelan who ran a small hotel there. She overheard some
officers speak of executions to come off the next day. She got word to
us and I came in with Barney Brady from Tullamore. We met there in
the garage. We were not sure what was to happen. We went up to a
room in the hotel, hoping to find out more. Had we known for certain
it would have been easy to ascend a building, where Shaw’s is now.
overlooking the barracks, and pick off the firing party from it. It could
not have saved our lads but at least it would have been some sort of an
action. Grimsel from Portlaoise was in charge of that barrack, not the
best type by all I heard. A priest from Templemore was called by the
Staters to attend the men the night before — they rarely had more than
a few hours notice — he refused to come, so Fr. Maloney from this
town, later Canon, went instead.

While heretofore North Tipperary had been a brigade, in future,
now that the war had ended and due to the reduction in numbers, it

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DAN GLEESON

would be a battalion. We all understood that and plans were made
accordingly. Jim Mangan, who was a brother of Joe, joined with me,
Dan continued, and we organised a local company of the l.R. A. here.
Then in 1926 Fianna Fail was formed. This resulted in great confusion
as one of its objectives was stated to be the abolition of the Oath. Their
policy seemed to duplicate exactly the policy of the I.R.A., with the
result that many of the lads joined them and were lost to us. Certainly
of the people I saw at the re-organisation meeting in Jim Mangan’s
house, very few of them appeared with us after. They joined De
Valera's Party, as it was called. He carried out a few stunts, such as
appearing in the North and having himself arrested, and this
consolidated his position.

Emigration

The cream of the lads went to America, said Liam. Paddy Lackan
was one of the wild geese. I was all set to go myself, but wiser counsels
prevailed. However, Paddy Doherty, Mike(6) and Peter Flannery,
and a lot of the Offaly lads, Jim Brien and Dick Fagan, went. It was
next to impossible to get a job here, and if you did get one you might
only have it when you would be arrested for something and your
chances spoiled again. I was the first Republican in this area to get a
semi-official post as an assistance officer under the then Minister for
Local Government, James Burke of Rockforest. At that time it was
obligatory to take an oath of allegience to the Free State. I was
appointed. I refused to take the oath and the matter was never
mentioned to me again. The second man appointed, who also refused
to take an oath, was Denis Healy, engineer, whom we lately buried in
Holy Cross.

Meanwhile, efforts were being directed to having a monument
erected in Nenagh to the memory of all those who had died in the
struggle, continued Dan. The council, it is said, had been thinking of
giving the site for the purpose of a war memorial, but we got in first,
and a brass plate was put in the ground, pending completion of the
stone. At one of these meetings, I spoke to a G.H.Q. officer on the
situation regarding Fianna Fail. He assured me that there could be no
ambivalence on this; you could be a member of the I.R.A. or you could
be a member of Fianna Fail, but you could not be a member of both.

Saor Eire came then. I understood that it might be necessary to try
different ways to reach the same objective. There might be other ways
apart from the military approach. There was a world-wide economic
slump then, which favoured Fianna Fail, and I suppose our people
wished to take advantage of it too. But other political changes came
too quickly, and Fianna Fail’s victory a few months later meant that

DAN GLEESON

275

there could be no future for Saor Eire. I did not see the victory of
Fianna Fail as a victory for us.

A quill and a penny bottle of ink, De Valera said, would do all the
work of the Governor General. The people were not looking for
pensions, but there were many with Free State pensions, and we would
have been glad to see them lose them. We were led to believe that this
might happen. Instead more pensions and doles were given out.
Pensions as low as £7 per year were paid to people, but they were
grateful for them. They were bought and stayed bought; people were
De Valera-ites when they should have been Republicans. He
dismantled many of the symbols of the Free State without changing its
political and social status in any way. We were however distracted by
the onset of the anti-blueshirt campaign. We bore the brunt of that.
Afterwards I often thought, should we have bothered with it? Should
we have become involved? It was like the Civil War again, with the
Free State Army running around impounding cattle. I thought that was
wrong. My sympathy was with a lot of the people that were losing their
cattle.

I knew Peadar O'Donnell. Gilmore and Frank Ryan very well. I had
a very high opinion of George Gilmore; Frank Rvan was completely
different, boisterous and lively, but loved by all. None of them
contacted me about the formation of Republican Congress in 1934; I
would not have gone with it anyway. Earlier on Padraig MacLogan was
well-known and highly thought of around this area. A unique
individual, said Liam Carroll. A great man for detail, they all agreed.

I was one of the men on the courtmartial of Sean Russell in the early
summer of 1936. There had been a number of courtmartials of other
important men before that, Peadar O’Donnell. Frank Ryan. Mick
Price, and so on. I had not been on those, but I mention them only to
show that another fallen star from the G.H.Q. firmament was not
considered unusual. Tomas 6 Maoileoin was at that time on the Army
Executive. Sean MacBride was newly appointed Chief of Staff after
Moss Twomey's arrest, and Donal O'Donoghue was Adjutant
General. Tomas informed me that I had been selected to participate;
he brought me to Dublin to the house of Dr. Andy Cooney, where I
met the other members of the court. Sean MacSwiney. Jimmy Dolan
and Ned Kerrigan. To my mind it was a fiasco of a courtmartial. Thev
were challenging him on the misappropriation o£ funds and the
withholding of documents. MacBride. McLogan and Donal
O'Donoghue were there. Tom Barry also; he had called for the
courtmartial and pressed MacSwiney into being a member of it.
Russell, as far as I can remember now. chose to have no one to speak
for him. He had long harboured a deep resentment against MacBride
and Barry. None of us however felt happy in our roles, although the
upshot of it was that he was expelled.

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DAN GLEESON

On balance I came later to hold the same views as Sean Russell. It
may be true what you say and what MossTwomey reportedly found(7)
on "his visits to the English units, that they were ill-prepared and too
weak to sustain the 1939 bombing campaign; yet I believe that if a
military group involves itself solely in politics, it will eventually have to
choose a role that is wholly political with all that that implies. Russell
was the first one to my mind to enunciate the policy of non-attack in the
Twenty-six Counties. He obviously hoped that if the I.R.A. could
carry out successful attacks upon the English mainland, it must
eventually spill over into the Six Counties as well.

For my part, the most important aspect of my life's work does not lie
in the 1919-21 period at all, but in my activity in helping to rebuild the
Movement since 1950. But that is a chapter which 1 would prefer to
leave closed until some other time.

REFERENCES

1 The second ambush that was ever in Ireland, the second after Soloheadbcg.
explained Liam Carroll at this point, was here in Lorrha in 1919, and it has never been
written up or mentioned by anybody. It was entirely a local effort against a patrol of four
R 1C. who w ent out from the village. They were ambushed near a disused quarry about
midway between Lorrha and Carrigahorig. It was carried out by six or eight lads with a
few single shotguns and double-barrel shotguns. Two of the police were shot dead and
one was wounded. The fourth ran down Annagh lane and got away. Three police
carbines were captured, which was thought to make it worthwhile. The condemnations
that rang out were loud and long. There was an old priest there in Lorrha. Fr. Gleeson.
he was hardly able to get over it. Pulpit and press joined in the imprecations. The fellow
that escaped. McCarthy was his name, was courting a girl in the Lascclles estate near
Portumna. She. he thought, was showing affection towards a John Joseph Madden from
the same neighbourhood. For reasons of jealousy, evidently, he had Madden accused of
taking part. The evidence, although fabricated, was strong against him. He was charged
with the murder of two constables. The trial went to Green Street in Dublin, where the
star w itness, by name Gilligan, was paraded. Tim Healy. w r as counsel for the defence and
he succeeded in breaking Gilligan. But the whole story, of which this is only a bare
outline, as recounted in the Nenagh Guardian of the time, is a thrilling one. Modreeny
ambush: see O’Malley’s Raids and Rallies for a detailed account.

2 McCarthy's on the Pallas road.

3 There were bonfires, toasts and rejoicings . . The curfew ended. The ordinary man
could enjoy the driest summer of the century. The restriction on motor travel was abolished..
Within a few days creameries were re-opening, markets and fairs were announced. There was
a widespread impression that Britain had capijtulated and that her trwps would soon be
withdrawn . . . Mellows, Brugha and Etchingham set off for Wexford like schoolboys . . .
“Wexford welcomes its great hero," ran the headlines of the Enniscorthy Echo. At last the
terror was at an end — Liam Mellows, by Desmond Greaves.

4 See account of Con Casey.

5 Frederick Burke. Patrick Russell, Martin O'Shea and Patrick McNamara.

6 Treasurer of Northern Aid U.S. A., 1972 and later.

7 In conversation with the writer.

277

Tom

Maguire

Commandant General, l.R.A.
(Second Division)

We had been escorted in by Tom and were seated with him and his
wife in their comfortable two storey house — rebuilt after its destruction
in 1921 — on the banks of the fast flowing River Cross.

My mother was Mary Greham from this parish. We were very close;
she had an uncle who had been in the Fenians. My father was William,
from here also. The tradition was that a regiment of Maguires from
Fermanagh fought under Cuconnacht Mor at Aughrim against the
Williamites in 1691. They moved in here gradually after that. My great
grandfather, Martin, was the first to come to this village. Cross, in the
18th century. William Mark, or Liam Marchis. was an earlier
grandparent. The tradition is that, when the French landed at Killala in
August 1798, he travelled from Headfort to Cong, borrowed the horse
of his uncle the Abbot of Cong — an O'Malley — and galloped off to
meet them. He joined Humbert around Castlebar and remained with
him until Ballinamuck. These Christian names, Liam Marchis. have
remained in our family ever since.

My father was also active in the Fenian Movement. We had a good
organisation in South Mayo. The Boycott farm is only a few miles from
here. I am talking of post 1867 Fenianism. The men that made the
backbone of the Land League in 1879 and after in the Plan of
Campaign were Fenians. At the same time he thought my nationalism
was a little advanced. The Movement had broken up and fragmented
and there had been a lot of bitterness over it. I suppose he did not want
me disappointed too. / see you walking the roads with people who will
betray you, he would say. He never entirely trusted De Valera, even
when he was at the height of his popularity. His father had been evicted
when my father was only three years old. He was evicted from the
Anderson estate. They were lucky however, that they had their trade
of vehicle building and wheel making to turn to. I was born in 1892. the

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fourth child of eleven. My two elder brothers and a sister emigrated, a
comparitively low proportion when one considers the poor prospects
people had of surviving at home.

I always had what I will call military leanings. I loved reading about
battles, both at home and abroad. The nationalist and separatist
papers however, did not reach our home so I cannot say that I was
influenced by them. My father however was anti-parliamentarian; so it
was natural that 1 would be also. However, one time when they were
seeking a banner fora festive occasion, they asked him to design one.
Under his direction, a local painter, by name of Willie Brett from
Ballinrobe. painted a picture of George Blake, who lived not far from
here. He joined Humbert’s army, and was later executed at
Castlebar. He had been in the British Army himself, his brother
Richard was a famous duelist, they were lesser members of the landed
gentry around here, they had no great national leanings, but
something sparked off George when he saw the green cockades to go
off and lead them. My father had not known George Blake, but he had
sufficient descriptions from those that did, that this painter was able to
make a fair representation of him. The most striking thing on the
banner were lines taken from Thomas Davis:

Slaves and dastards stand aside

Knaves and traitors fag a bealach.

That would have been around 1910. My father got a great delight out of
instilling this bit of nationalism into them.

Our First Raid

Shortly after the Volunteers were founded in 1913, I joined them. I
was well aware of the issues when Redmond split them with his
recruiting speech for the British Army in 1914. There were only a few
of us here however when 1916 came and of course we could play no
part. The Easter insurrection came to me like a bolt from the blue, I
will never forget my exhileration, it was a turning point in my life. To
think that Irishmen, were fighting England on the streets of Dublin: I
thanked God for seeing such a day. Liam Mellows was active in this
part of the country, but he never came here. The first properly
organised company in this area was formed in 1917. When the
conscription crisis of April 1918 broke we were flooded out with
recruits. I welcomed them in, but although I did so, I thought 1 should
test them out on a few route marches. That finished most of them, they
melted away. There is a story told of a man ‘at stations' here who was
asked by the priest in confession, were you ever in the I.R.A.? / was

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indeed, answered the man. but Tom Maguire brought us on a few
marches for a couple of nights and l could not keep up with him.

We had no arms at all at this stage. However, there were eight rifles
in this village that I coveted very much and they were not too far from
where we are sitting now. but they were well guarded: they were in the
R.I.C. barracks. Now. as you know, the Royal Irish Constabulary,
were trained as a military force, very much like the R.U.C. today, for
holding down a subject people. I used to see them here, as a boy, being
drilled every morning by the sergeant. There is a place, a mile from
here, called Faunchenagh. with no town or village, or public house
nearby. I saw the police being marched from the Neale to the fair
there, complete with helmets and rifles, keeping watch all day, and
clearing the place in the evening by going in and pucking the fellows
with their rifles. They were a completely military trained force, an
extension of the British Army, except that they wore different
uniforms. They were a splendid body for the purpose. Those that
remained in it were terribly bitter towards the end. far tougher fighters
to have to deal with than the soldiers.

There was no barracks here at first, they patrolled from the Neale.
Then a hut was fixed up for them about the start of the century, to be
followed by a barracks. It was not the conventional stone built
structure; it was a timber frame and brick. Of course when the troubles
came it was heavily sandbagged, and was as strong as any other. We
are about five miles here from the border of County Galway at
Headford. When I was a little boy they walked that, from the Neale
to there and back again, all of sixteen miles every day, and they knew
every house and person along the way. That was before they got
bicycles.

Now to come forward again to 1920. There was then one brigade in
Co. Mayo. Joe MacBride wasO.C.. that is the Major’s brother. Sean’s
uncle. Dick Walsh was adjutant. Now he was a good little man but not
really the fighting type. I had heard the police might leave here, and if
they did that would be the end of the eight rifles. So I went to Dick
Walsh, as my nearest senior officer, and told him of my plan. He told
me that there was a new order down from Dublin that all such
operations must be vetted by them beforehand. / will arrange a meeting
with Richard Mulcahy, the Minister for Defence, he said.

I went to Dublin to meet Mulcahy, and I told him of my plan to
attack the Cross barracks. Now at that time these people were little
gods, people even treasured their autograph on a letter. Mulcahy
listened to my proposal carefully, and studied the sketches I drew out
showing my whole plan of attack. After a while he nodded slowly and
said: It is a good plan, but you are not yet on the run down there and we
know of the sound work you are doing. If the barracks is attacked and

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you are involved , you will have to go on the run and your work is going
to he less effective. If you could think of some plan whereby the barracks
could be taken and you could prove you were somewhere else I would
say go ahead.

I came back here and I thought hard about it. I dropped out of
things, making my movements very obvious to the police in the
barracks, past whom I had to go whenever I left the village. The
tension there must have relaxed too, because, whereas before, only
two went to Mass, now six of them would go together leaving only two
police in charge of the place. I figured that they would not be as sharp
as the sergeant, and that it was during the latter's absence at Mass that I
could carry out my plan.

1 sent a message to Dick Walshe, my superior, outlining my proposal.
He replied, offering to meet me in Claremorris, which is twenty miles
from here. I did not like the idea of stirring out, but I mounted the
bicycle anyway and cycled in to Claremorris. He did not turn up. I met
instead, by accident two Volunteers, neither of whom were from my
command. One of them, by name of Donleavy, had the reputation of
being out in 1916. I therefore placed some confidence in him. The
other chap was Harry Burke, a native of Claremorris. I told them of my
plan. They offered to help. Now at that time George Maguire, a
brother of the late Chief Justice Conor Maguire, was a demobbed
British officer. He had been a doctor in the army, and Conor had got a
month in jail for reading a proclamation. They were friendly to me,
and I knew that they were sympathetic to the Movement. I therefore
approached them and obtained the loan of two uniforms, which were a
vital element in my plan.

I then arranged for Donleavy and Burke to come to Cross on a
certain day. They would be met and brought to a wood where they
could change into the uniforms. There would be a man positioned to
see that the six police had entered the church. There was a good
company of Volunteers from a place about ten miles from here. They
would be placed in the porch to make sure that, should there be any
noise from the barracks, they would not get out too easily. There
would be a group of men placed directly opposite the barracks. On
hearing the words Hands Up , they were to rush across in and collar the
stuff. We had arranged for paraffin to be around, and when the raid
had taken place the barracks would be burned down.

I went to Mass of course. When 1 came out, imagine my
disappointment, the barracks was still there. Everything had gone like
clockwork, with every man positioned, but our decoy had failed us at
the vital moment. They were to arrive by car outside the barracks,
which they did. I had aranged the car and driver for them. The door
of the barracks opened. One of the police emerged and came down

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281

to the car. The driver requested a fill of water, a common thing at that
time. The policeman went in and returned with it. During all this time,
with everybody poised, the ‘officer’ Donleavy remained immobile. He
had got cold feet. When the last drop was poured in by the policeman,
he whispered to the driver, drive on. The peeler sprung to attention,
and saluted the departing car.

Apart from the loss of the eight rifles, I knew that we would not have
the same opportunity again. Once a plan is set up and it does not come
off, it is impossible to recreate the same circumstances for another go.
And stunts like that, whenever they were successful, were a great
morale boost for us.

We were badly equipped. We got no help in the way of material from
Dublin. We would be told, well the British have them, take them from
them. I was on such a begging trip to Dublin in October, 1920 about the
time Sean Treacy was gunned down in Talbot Street. I met Collins then
in Vaughans Hotel, it seemed like a regular G.H.Q. I could never
understand how they got away with it for so long.

We did try another time to rush down the back door of the barracks
in Cong. I approached the back door on a Sunday night, late in 1920.
knocked hard and held my gun at the ready. A step approached along
the corridor. My heart was thumping, I need not tell you. However, at
the last moment, the footsteps stopped and the person inside
withdrew. It was a solid place and they were not opening it, so we had
to leave it.

The county was divided in September. 1920 into four brigade areas.

I was then appointed Brigade O.C. of South Mayo. Michael Kilroy was
active in West Mayo. Later he was appointed O.C. of the Fourth
Western Division which included North Mayo, West Mayo and
Connemara.

There was some agrarian trouble here too. People would clear land
and that would involve us. There was a farm quite close here that they
cleared, there was another one east of here, and one back the
Ballinrobe direction at a place called Milehill. The people involved
were no help to the Volunteers. They were just greedy and selfish
taking advantage of a situation. I used to get daily reports about them’

In the Milehill case. I heard this day that they had planted the flag in it.
That is a hit too much. I said, insulting the flag. I went out and told them
that they would have to stop. So it stopped, they removed the flag and
withdrew. I was coming out the same road shortly after. It was a pitch
dark night, with very heavy showers and black clouds. You could see
nothing. I had no light on my bike of course. I was coming from visiting
a company six miles on the north side of Ballinrobe, at a place called
Newbrook. Coming through the town I called on a soldier who lived
alone, a Volunteer and a very intelligent man. I used to drop in on

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him as he would always have some interesting bits of information. I
dropped in on him this night, although it was late. He had not yet gone
to bed. Placing a mug of cocoa before me, he sat down. Just at that
moment we heard a patrol approaching outside. It passed by the
house. They were on bicycles. Now, said I, they are either going out to
Milehillor to Sarsfield, both of them cleared farms. / will wait until they
are past the turn for Milehill.

We chatted on. I gave them plenty of time before setting off. It was
pitch dark and raining heavily as l have said, I had topped Milehill and
was freewheeling down when I found myself inside a herd of cattle, as I
thought. Heavens, I said, there is a right drive on tonight. It was not
cattle, it was the constabulary of course. Some were on their bikes, and
some were getting on. They had no lights either, and in the dark with
their billowy black capes it was very easy to mistake them. I was a
wanted man, on the run, but there was nothing now to do but brush
through as neatly as I could as though I was one of themselves.
Wheeling and turning, I slipped ahead of them. I could not be sure
however, that they had not identified me; a bullet in the back would
settle that. I pedalled ahead furiously. It was a long, straight road.
Would they suddenly open up and fire at me, I wondered. At that time
it was commonplace for notices to appear. Shot while trying to escape.
They could easily do me that way. but they did not. To this day, I do
not know how I brushed past more than a dozen men without one of
them reacting or becoming suspicious.

On this subject of agrarian trouble, and stepping back a little in time
to May 1920, I recall what was, I think, one of the first Dail Eireann
Land Courts to be held in Ballinrobe. Art O’Connor, B.L. and Kevin
Shiels, B.L. were there constituting the court. Although Ballinrobe
was close to a garrison town, I was able to provide protection for them
to function openly in the Town Hall. The purpose of that court was
to decide on the ownerships of these cleared lands. The court upheld
the original owners. The reason was simple. Landlords were forever
badly off for money in this part of the world; therefore the man who
could scrape a few pounds together could get in. He might not have
title, but it was his and it was not fair to put him out.

There always has been a history of land agitation in these parts. Lord
Mountmorris was killed not far from here in 1880. There were the
Maumtrasna murders when a man, his wife and three children were
slaughtered in a peasant cabin on the 8th August, 1882; nobody ever
knew why, but three local men, one of them innocent, were hanged for
it. Joe Huddy was serving writs of ejectment on tenants of the
Guinness’s at a place called Crocbrack. He and his grandson were
waylaid and their bodies cast into Lough Mask.

There were several ambushes planned by us about this time which

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came to nothing. You would get information about a patrol and you
would be in wait to waylay it. The night you would be prepared they
would not come. There was a good deal of that but eventually our turn
came.

Kilfall Ambush

We planned an attack on the road between Ballinrobe and Castlebar
for the 7th March. 1921 at a place called Kilfall. We had information
that a British party came that way on Mondays. Now, it was very bad
ambush country, with little or no cover. As well as that it was market
day in Ballinrobe, so we could not block the road. Then again, if we did
block the road and nothing came along, it being the only spot where we
had a chance of doing anything — it was finished. Anyway, we decided
to have a rattle at them.

I picked three of my best marksmen to bring down the driver of the
lorry. If you had him. you had the rest of them copped. Of course, you
would be into the middle of it yourself, because once a fight was started
you could not run away from it. So. initial surprise and advantage was
of paramont importance. My first marksman anyway, was Martin
Conroy from Gortnacoille nearSrah in the Tourmakeady district. The
first time that I encountered him was after I had been appointed O.C. I
went up to see the Srah company. 1 had a chat with the men first — they
were assembled in a field, and I then addressed the commander; Ask
them to fall in. As they did so, this one backed away, a slight little man,
he withdrew to one side. I spoke to the O.C. Who is he? What is he
doing here? He is a volunteer, and a reliable man, but he will not stand
into a line to drill. He is a man vou can rely on.

In the meantime, I had got to know Martin better. He was very fond
of fowling along the Partrys, an excellent shot. So I chose him as the
one to pick off the driver. To make sure however, I placed three men,
Martin, then another, then another.

Having placed them. I went back over each. Now are you quite sure
you will get your man? Martin did not have to take a bird off the wing
that day. and he knew it. / am quite sure, said he. I'd get him if he was a
snipe.

The man in charge of the British party was a Capt. Chatfield: he had
as his second in command, a man from the north of Ireland. Lieut
Craig. They were regularly drilled for dealing with an ambush!
alighting from the vehicle, taking cover and returning fire. They were
well drilled and were no easy cop. On this occasion, they were taken so
much by surprise that only three soldiers and Craig succeeded in
getting out. I had two fellows a little to the rear to cover the backs of
the vehicles. One of these was a most reliable volunteer; he never

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missed a drill or a parade or anything like that. I had not picked him in
mv original selection. I noticed then that he was very hurt about this.
The second fellow was a good hefty lad. He had been in the R.l.C. but
came out and brought a supply of Mills bombs with him. These I placed
at the rear.

The leading lorry appeared and with that my marksmen’s shots rang
out. The fight was on with a few short bursts, and the ex-R.I.C. man, I
could see was busy throwing his little grenades. But he must not have
known to remove the pin because they were rolling down the road like
pebbles and not exploding. At long last. I saw my other men taking aim
and firing. We had the cartridges loaded up with buckshot and only a
weak charge, so that they could be very wounding at close quarters.
Immediately, they felt this, four of the enemy turned tail and fled up
the road. We let them go. The others lay down, at the same time
throwing their weapons away from them. They surrendered. Rushing
out upon the road, I reached the lorry. There was a young soldier
there, apparently dead, with his head hanging over the side. When he
felt someone near him he looked up nervously. He was bleeding from
the face. Opening the eyelids he gazed at me with anxious brown eyes,
and I returned the stare, but I did nothing more except to tell him to
drop everything he had and step out.

We had an ex-Irish Guards man with us that day, a man by the name
of Michael Costello. Picking up one of our unexploded grenades, I saw
him pull the pin out. What are you doing with that , said 1 .1 am going to
lob it into the middle of these bastards. Now . none of that, said I,
holding his hand. Reluctantly he held his thumb upon the spring. You

don't know the . as long as / do. I succeeded in taking the grenade

from him.

Tourmakeady

One of our biggest operations after that was the ambush near
Tourmakeady. The British had built a very strong barracks in a very
commanding position at a place called Derrypark. We had not the
explosives to attack it, and in any case, it would have been a big
undertaking to do so. So after the smaller barracks in this area had
been cleared. Cross, Cong, Clonbur, it was still left, a thorn in our side,
in an area we badly wanted cleared.

There was one weakness in its situation however. It had to be
supplied every month. A well-armed relief party went there on one of
the commencing days of the month, but whether it might be the first,
second or third I could not say. My intelligence was good but it was not
good enough for that. However, they bought their supplies in a shop in
Ballinrobe. Birmingham & Co., and in that shop worked a boy named

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285

Patrick Vahey, who in later years would have been an uncle of Frank
Stagg who died — many say he was killed — suffering intolerable
conditions in English prisons in February, 1976. Anyway this bov was
one of our Volunteers. When the police came to place their order he
was to let us know .

Ever since Kilfallw'e wer eon our keeping, a flying column of around
thirty men out in the open country sleeping where we could and when
we could. The local units in each village were in an important back-up
position, not, seemingly doing much, but contributing a lot in the way
of supplies, intelligence, safe houses and of course impeding the
enemy at every hand's turn.

It was the beginning of the month. We therefore decided to move.
On the Saturday we came close to Derrypark. We lay low over the
Sunday, and on the Monday the 3rd May. 1921, we took up positions.
We were accompanied now by some local men, but we still had not
heard from our source in Ballinrobe. Then, as we waited, we got the
word; they'll he along today.

Five of them were killed and more wounded; we suffered no
casualties. The ambush position was right in the middle of
Tourmakeady where the road bends sharply and a gateway enters a
house. A flanking wall commands the road. We had a couple of
fellows, good shots, placed there. They stopped it. There was a second
lorry close behind. When it heard the shots it tried to stop, but it had
already entered the ambush position. Some of them were hit. too. One
RT.C. man that was in it lost an arm and died near here only very
recently. Dismissing the local men we retired at once westwards into
the hills. It was not long until the chase was on. A few hours later, at
about tw elve o clock, we were contacted by a party of British troops. A
running fight ensued. We withstood their attack with Lewis guns and
rifle fire all day. There were two hundred and fifty or more of them,
and of course they would have liked to out-flank and surround us. At
one point I got hit. They were concentrating a terrible barrage on us
just then. My adjutant, Michael O'Brien, crept over and tied me up,
but I was still bleeding profusely. A party of them, led by a Lieut.
Ibberson, moved up to outflank me. He was not in uniform, his
frock-coat was off. He walked nonchantly along, carrying a rifle, his
bandolier across his white shirt. Suddenly taking aim he fired at
O'Brien, who had just finished attending to me. He hit and fatally
wounded O'Brien, who was in the act of picking up his rifle again, but
at the same time, to my astonishment, I saw Ibberson collapse in
shreds, his bandolier sliding off him. and his rifle failing to the ground
as one of our lads got him. There was so much shooting and so much
noise that I could not say where it came from, but it came from our
side anyway, because there was a load of buckshot in it and it

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splattered all over Eberson. He turned and ran; he could still run
although his arms and body had pellets everywhere. When he turned
up months afterwards in the court at Claremorris claiming damages, he
still bore the scars.

Anyway, we held them off there for a day. It was a fine day in early
summer, and unfortunately a long one. Crouched there in the fern,
conserving our fire, we wondered if it would never end. They pressed
us very hard. A couple of us were wounded and one was killed. I had
six bullet wounds, yet, strangly, enough. I remained in full control of
mvself, and could stand up. As the hours crept by however, I became
progressively weakened from loss of blood and shock. I found l could
scarcely raise myself to look around.

It was dark at last, we had our first respite. Very lights shot into the
air calling in the troops. We could hear the whistles too as they made
their way back to the twenty four lorries that brought them. What a
relief it was. We were left in possession of the field.

I was carried upon one fellow's back, my arms hanging down. The
first house they came to, I was brought in and laid down. I was
comfortable there, but feeling very weak. Very early in the morning
two Volunteers arrived. Are you able to move, they asked? I had never
taken spirits before, but that morning I was given a double egg flip
mixed with whiskey and it did me a power of good. Leaning heavily
upon both of them, I left the house and moved towards the end of the
gable. Rounding it, there came a puff of wind, which flattened me. My
legs buckled and I could travel no further. The British were
everywhere, searching for stragglers such as myself; still there was
nothing for it but to return to the cottage.

At that time there was a doctor in Tourmakeady village who had
informed our lads that if ever he was needed he could be called upon.
A message was conveyed to him by some youngster, and he came at
once, but of course he could bring nothing with him. He rummaged
around the house, picking up a few sceilphs of wood, and some bits of
wool, and a clean flour bag. With these he improvised the necessary
splints and bandages. I was inside that cordon from the Tuesday until
the Saturday night. They were unable to move me out of it; neither
could they leave me in a house. I had to be moved away outside and left
in the bracken. On the Tuesday, it was a holy day, I remember, they
were again carrying me early up the hill to place me in a hollow, and I
could feel the trees and bushes striking the shawl they wrapped me in.
At the same time an aeroplane came in low, so low it would deafen
you. but it passed on. They left me in this hollow anyway, and retired
down again. They had scarcely gone when it commenced to pour rain.
In a short while I was soaked through. I don't know if you have ever
lain soaked through but if it is not too cold it can almost be a

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pleasurable experience. While I lay like that I could hear the soldiers
about me. methodically criss-crossing and retracing their steps. I was
as near as that, but they did not find me. At long last, in the evening the
whistles were again blowrn. and I could hear the sound of the lorries
starting up.

They got me out on the Saturday night. They took me across country
into the Ballyglass area, between Ballinrobe and Balia; and of all
places they were heading for it was to the herd’s house on the
Fitzgerald-Kenney estate. He was later a Minister in the Cumann na
nGael government, and was never in the Movement. They had been
carrying me up to this a distance of twelve miles or more. It was not
doing me any good. One of the fellows thought if we go ahead and ask
for the use of Fitzgerald-Kenney’s car I could be brought more quickly
to a place of safety. At that time he had one of the few cars in the
neighbourhood.

He was met bv Miss Fitzgerald-Kenney; oh, she said, could you not
take him in the cart? / suppose we could, said the Volunteer, hut he will
suffer a lot. If he is a soldier, he will not mind suffering. Well, answered
the Volunteer civilly, we could take your car, but on this occasion we
shall not.

They then put me in a cart; it jolted badly on the rough road. They
unharnessed the horse and commenced drawing it themselves. That
was just as bad. but I pretended it felt much better. After I travelled
through the night for six miles thus we reached the herd's house
attached to the estate. The next morning. Miss Fitzgerald-Kenney
called to see me. It was Sunday, and I had not eaten anything for some
time. The woman of the house made tea and an egg, and Miss
Fitzgerald-Kenney fed it to me. She inquired about the fight. When I
mentioned Lieut. Eberson. she remarked, oh, I know Lieut. Eberson.
She was very nice to me. I was not left there long, however. I was
moved again that night, eventually reaching a place called Castlecarra,
a very out of the way place, to the house of a man called Terrv
Cochran.

Terry, although of Irish extraction, was born in Glasgow, and had a
very Scottish accent. I now needed medical attention urgently. In Balia
there was a Doctor O'Boyle, who had been in the army during the
War. He had a major’s rank. He came readily. Sitting on the end of the
bed he cleansed the wounds, no anasthetic. no half brandy, or any
nonsense like that. He was about three hours at it. but he did a great
job. When he was going, one of our lads whispered, what do you think
of him? He is finished, he has lost too much blood. If you could get him
into a hospital he would have some chance, but here!. ... And he
glanced around eloquently.

The following week he came out again. Well, what do you think of

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him now? He will he fighting fit in a few weeks, he replied cheerfully. It
was the will to survive. I suppose if we had been beaten after
Tourmakeady. I would have died. Meanwhile I found our home here
at Cross had been wrecked by the police and the British Army. They
came on a number of occasions carrying out punitive raids as they call
them now in the North. They would start up a fire inside, but on three
different occasions the neighbours entered quickly and put it out. Then
one day they came and did a real job; they demolished the house, the
house in which we now sit. We had to rebuild it completely. I can tell
you that it was not easy doing that after the Civil War when our
business was in ruins.

The Column meanwhile had remained intact despite the enemy
pressures. Michael O'Brien, my adjutant, would have taken over from
me, but he was gone, and his loss was keenly felt. They therefore
avoided any action, and that was the position when the Truce came. I
need hardly say it was a bombshell. None of us had any inkling that
such a move was contemplated. My first thought was. the English are
after this so we must have won. When the terms of the Treaty were
published however, six months later. I said, how could Irishmen have
put their names to it?

I had been selected as a candidate in the general election of May,
1921 while I was lying wounded out upon the hillside. I knew nothing
about it at the time, but I was returned unopposed. My selection got
over the difficulty of a number of possible candidates who were
presenting themselves. Conor Maguire, the barrister, was one and he
had been a prospective candidate in 1918. He was popular. There was
also Dick Walshe. Adjutant of the original Mayo Brigade. He had a
Fenian background. There was a third, by the name of Coyne, a
solicitor from Ballyhaunis. I do not know who proposed my name.
Maguire and Walshe supported me then but Coyne put it to a vote. I
thus became a member of the Second Dail.

We established training camps straightaway in this area. There was a
big one at Clydagh. five miles from here. Headquarters had another
set up. and I had one at a place called Ballycurrin. on the shores of
Lough Corrib. They were very well run and discipline was tight. We
faced up to the training on the assumption that we might have to
resume the war. I remember being one of a party brought to Dublin for
training in bomb making and chemical devices. A group went from this
area, and were met by Sean MacBride. I was in bad form physically. I
had been working hard and had never got built up properly after
Tourmakeady. When Sean saw that two of my party were missing, he
spoke tartly, we were to be here on Tuesday, it is now Thursday. We
trained hard there. There was plenty of euphoria among the public
alright, but not with us.

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289

Division

I was overwhelmed when the news came through that a Treaty such
as this one, had been signed. I was absolutely convinced that the
Republic that the people had established had to be recognised. I did
not see the North as a separate issue. What counted was that the vast
majority of the people of Ireland had voted for a Republic and we had
no right to disestablish it.

I had been in Castlerea when the news came through. I returned
here with a flu. feeling very sick. I went to Dublin for the opening of
the debates on December 14th. I still had this flu and was unable to
shake it off. Fellows would gather around, and say. damn it man, what
you need is brandy. Foolishly, I listened to them. It drove my
temperature sky high, and I suffered terribly. Eventually. I was placed
under the care of a doctor who ordered me to bed. I remained there
over Christmas, not returning home.

In the interval, I received a letter from our parish priest. Canon
Henry; it is rumoured here, the letter ran. that you are determined to
vote against the Treaty. If you cannot see your way to vote for it you
should at least abstain. I also had a letter from Dean Dalton in
Ballinrobe ordering me to vote for the Treaty. I did not reply to that
one because it was an offensive letter, but I did reply to Canon Henry
setting out my reasons clearly. I added that, in the circumstances, I
could not abstain. He replied with a nice letter; as you know, he said. /
have never touched politics and / would not have written to you now,
had I not been requested by my Archbishop to use all my influence.
Even the Chinese Mission at Dalgan Park near Shrule got on to me.
They knew me of old. We had been preparing an ambush near their
place the previous Easter Monday. We were in the locality. O'Brien
and myself walked across the fields and approached the front door. It
opened before we had time to reach the bell. There was a great
welcome. We were brought in, treated very well and sat down for
breakfast. The man in charge then was Dr. Cleary; he afterwards got
severe treatment from the Chinese communists in the late forties.
They wrote to me too. The pressure was strong and concerted upon
every T.D. and those who returned home over Christmas were the
most exposed. It has been said with truth, that if the vote had been
taken before Christmas it would not have been carried. Remember
too. that apart from newspaper and I.R.B. pressures, a lot of our men
were teachers; they depended very much upon the parish priest for the
security of their job. They could not afford to go against him.

I was staying after Christmas in the Exchange Hotel in Parliament
Street. I returned this evening to receive a message from the porter
that two priests had called, had waited a considerable time and wished
to see me. They were at the Gresham. As soon as I had my tea I walked

TOM MAGUIRE

2*X)

over to the Gresham. Dean Dalton was one of them, and the parish
priest of Kilmaine. Martin Healy was the other. They were in a very
amicable mood, chatting to me about everything. They called for
drinks. What would I have? A brown ginger , I replied. Nonsense . said
Dean Dalton, this is no time for that, we shall have champagne. I need
not tell you I did not have champagne.

I do not agree that the Plenipotentiaries should have been arrested
immediately they returned. The man that I blame for that is De
Valera. He was the man who asked the Dail the previous August to
confirm his appointment as President of the Republic. He was
proposed on August 26th, 1921 by Commdt. Sean McKeon, at a
session I attended, and was unanimously elected. The purpose of that
public re-election was to formally record our status as a Republic in
view of the negotiations then commencing. Yet. the treaty they were
engaged in negotiating was designed to subvert the Republic. He was
in a very strong position had he wished to press it. He had the Army
overwhelmingly behind him. He therefore should have acted
decisively when they came back, he should not have allowed a vote. He
should simply have said, we cannot do this, and he would have had the
support of the nation.

I had the greatest respect for Mulcahy whom I had met a number of
times, as I have already related. He had none of the Mick Collins
bonhomie. He was very much the leader and a disciplinarian. In fact, I
liked him very much because he was so straight and forthright. I had
met Mick Collins also. I thought he was very solid, but I did not like his
habit of taking the country fellows off for a jar. He got a grip on fellows
that way, but Mulcahy would not do that: he was all business. Still, all
of us had faith in Mick, yet they undermined him too. Some blame the
I.R.B. for this, withgood reason. I myself was in the I.R.B. I had been
initiated into it by Dick Walshe who was the Adjutant of the former
Mayo Brigade. I think their purpose was to nab anyone who showed
promise in the Movement, and of course their intention at that time
was to strengthen the Movement and secure the Republic. I never had
much to do with them however, nor even with Sinn Fein; my whole
attention was concentrated upon the Volunteers, the I.R.A.

The very night I arrived in Dublin for the commencement of the
debate, I arrived on the 13th December. I was met in the hallway of the
hotel by a man who was my senior in the I.R.B. (I would not admit that
he was my senior in anything else, particularly, in the fight). He had a
message for me; it was to the effect that, although the I.R.B. Council
had not met. certain senior officers had, and they supported the
Treaty.

The day the Treaty was voted upon at Earlsfort Terrace, on the 7th
January, 1922, I was standing with two other Dail members awaiting

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291

our turn to go in and vote. When I came hack I was joined by them. If /
had known . said one, that you were going to vote against it , / would
have voted against it too. Which shows how casually, almost, it was
passed, w ith a majority of only seven. Later that was reduced to two
when it came to selecting the President^ 1)

Document No. 2 was never presented of course. If it had been as an
alternative line to the Treaty. I would have voted for it. but only
because it would have avoided the disasterous split. From then on we
watched the course of events with the deepest misgivings yet without
being able to exert the slightest control over them. I was present at the
meeting four days after the fateful vote in Earlsfort Terrace that set
up a Military Council. The commandants then decided that the
Army would be placed under its own Executive henceforth. The
Convention of 26th March which was called by Rory O'Connor and
met in the Mansion House, was a confirmation of that position. It
amounted to a repudiation of Dail Eireann: I was again appointed to
the Executive. We were undecided however, because the last thing we
wanted to do was to start to shoot. We would have done anything to
avoid that.

It was a mistake, I felt, to withdraw allegiance from Dail Eireann.
They had a right to remain under it. I was opposed to the withdrawal.
Later Liam Lynch, called another Convention,(2) that was the one for
Sunday April, 9th. I asked him his reasons. He said: there are three men
whom / want on the Executive , if I can get them elected. They are Tom
Hales , Florence O'Donoghue and Liam Deasv. They were officers
from his own divisional area, and I am sure they were good men. I
cannot say anything for Tom Hales, but the other two did not prove
themselves after. Deasv let the side down in January 1923 when he
allowed himself to be the instrument of a surrender message from the
Free Staters. (After his capture and sentence to death). O'Donoghue
took no part in the Civil War. Instead he went from this bishop to that
bishop trying to bring the sides together. I would not allow my name to
go forward for the Executive. The Convention wanted me to go on.
They were pressing me hard, but I said, there is Kilroy over there , ask
him. And Kilroy went on.

After that the two armies called a truce on May 4th in an effort to
reduce the friction which had developed between them in Limerick,
Kilkenny, Dublin, Mullingar and many other places. The Dail
discussed a Coalition which might be expressed through an agreed
election. Finally on May 20th Michael Collins and Eamonn De Valera
announced that they had signed an Election Pact, whereby a panel of
candidates representing the two parties would be placed before the
people. The British Government was strongly opposed to the Pact on
the grounds that it was in breach of the Treaty.

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Griffith and Collins were later summoned to London. Speaking in
Cork on his return two days before the election Collins advised the
electorate to disregard it. The Pact was thus broken.

One effect of the Pact was that it gave a residual advantage to the
supporters of the Treaty, enabling more of them to be elected than
might otherwise have happened. I was happy when I heard about the
Pact, but at the same time I had doubts that it could work. I was
returned unopposed. We were to meet two days after Free State forces
attacked the Republican garrison in the Four Courts, on June 30th.
That meeting, if it had taken place, would have dissolved the Second
Dail. and commenced the proceedings of the 1 hird Dail. The Second
Dail never met. nor were we ever summoned. I was already in Dublin
and attended the I.R.A. Convention held in the Mansion House on
Sunday. June 18th. (3) but can recall no details of what went on there. I
left Dublin shortly after.

There had been no military confrontation in this part of the West.
The British had evacuated Ballinrobe, Claremorris, and other towns
and we were in control. We heard of the attack upon the Four Courts
from the newspapers. The position here was that there was no strong
force opposing us. However, here, as everywhere else, wc adopted the
strategy of evacuation. We had not the material, so we retired from the
barracks and made for the hills. There was no cohesion or military
council formed between the provincial commanders here, Liam
Pilkington of the 3rd Western. Mick Kilroy of the Fourth or myself.
There were instead many desertions; you might be in touch with
personalities on your side today, and tomorrow you could be told that
they had gone over to the Free State. (The rapid and businesslike way
whereby the Free State gained control of the country, especially in
areas where Republican garrisons were undecided was a major factor
in this). It had a weakening effect upon our effort.

I was back upon the run again, mainly in South Mayo. I was
concerned very much by what you termed fragmentation, by the effort
to travel around, make contact, and hold our groups together. Ours
was a wholly defensive strategy. While we made a few attacks upon
Free State posts, I can think of nothing spectacular, certainly there was
no longer the thinking or the will power that had created the ambushes
of a year and a half ago.

You could not bring yourself to want this sort of warfare. There was
a different feeling altogether. The British were the enemy, the old
enemy: there was a certain pride in having the ability to attack them.
That feeling was entirely absent in the Civil War. It was very
disheartening. We knew the Free State Army comprising 50,(XK) newly
recruited mercenaries would not hesitate to shoot us, but that made it
no easier for us to pluck up enough anger to really fight them. You

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were in doubt too about approaching houses where before you had
been made welcome. How are they taking the situation, you would
wonder? The people themselves were disheartened.

Death

When I heard of the deaths of people on the Free State side like
Griffith, Collins, Sean Hales, I could not be glad. You felt these are
people who fought the British and now they are gone. Britain is really
the victor.

It was on October 10th they passed the Army Powers Resolution,(4)
the Murder Act, as we called it, giving tribunals power to execute
anyone found earning arms or ammunition, aiding or abetting in
attacks, destruction or seizure of property; so wide indeed was it that it
could be used against anyone having any connection with the
Republican resistance. The implementation of such draconian powers
enraged us but it was futile. We could make no response in the
circumstances. I was captured myself anyway just a few days after that
in the Headfort district, not far from here. I was at my usual task of
getting around, trying to hold things together. Suddenly a body of Free
State soldiers were in on top of me and I was captured. It was then that
I really experienced the sort of mercenaries they were. ex-British
Army soldiers, tramps and misfits of every conceiveable type. They
had expanded their army to over 50,000 men and I suppose you do not
find numbers like that unless yaa rake them from off the street comers.

I was brought to Athlone where there were two prison camps within
the boundaries of the former British Army military barracks. In one,
known as Pump Square, they held the ordinary detainees and
prisoners. In the other. Garrison Detention, they kept people arrested
after the passing of the Murder Act. There were regular cells in the
Detention, and it was well enclosed as it had been used to hold the
delinquents of the British Army. Having been caught in arms after the
passing of the Resolution I was held there, from October 1922 until
June 1923, w hen I escaped out of it. During all the months I was there I
never knew but that I might be executed. Five men were shot there by a
firing squad in January, my youngest brother John, not yet twenty
years of age, was executed in Tuam. only forty miles away in April.
1923. It seems like, from the way Peadar O'Donnell tells in a book of
his(5) they found it easier to make an example of younger brothers,
leaving the older and more senior ones alone. I was a T.D., but that
had not saved Mellows or Childers, and I did not expect that it would
save me.

They courtmartialled me in January, 1923. The court, if you could
call it that, was a military one although they were all in civics. I

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enquired when I was brought in, what is this? Although I knew damned
well. / do not recognise this court , I answered, you have no authority to
try me. They went through their rigmarole of accusations nonetheless,
and of course they found me guilty. The day before, the five executions
1 have just spoken about, a military policemen of theirs a Sergt.
Browne came in and handed a list of six names to Dr. Tom Powell, our
O.C. Powell came to me. This fellow says that he has instructions to take
these people from their ordinary cells tonight and put them into different
cells . The six men were changed that night before lock-up; five were
taken out in the morning and shot by firing squad, and one was not. I
am that one.(6) I often thought afterwards how did that happen to me,
but I cannot tell you. Unless it was because I was popular. I did have a
reputation for fair play. During the Tan struggle unionists and loyalists
could call upon me if someone was trying to lean upon them. You have
yourself said there how the Free State “provincialised" its killings,
both official and unofficial, by having the majority of them carried out
away from Dublin in contrast to the British who had all of theirs,
except one, in Dublin and Cork. It is my opinion that their objective
was to involve all of their senior officers in this policy, so that there
would be no denying it afterwards. Joe Sweeney carried out executions
in Drumboe in Donegal. Dan Hagan had them in Dundalk, Michael
McCormick had them in Maryborough, Birr and Roscrea, Joseph
Cummins had them in Wexford, Liam Stack had one in Carlow, Sean
McKeon had them in Athlonc and Michael Brennan had them in
Tuam. Limerick and Ennis. Eleven of my command were executed by
them. With my brother, John, five others were executed in Tuam on
the 11th April.(7) (The executions of March, April and May, 1923
were unnecessarily vengeful; the Free Staters knew that the I.R.A.
was about to suspend its resistance). He had been arrested in the Tuam
area sometime after myself and they had far less on him.

Escape

I escaped from the Athlone Garrison Detention on the 10th of
June. 1923. Our jail was inside other lines of military buildings, two
sides of which were used by the other detained Republicans, but with
barred windows between us and them. On the other two sides were
tall impressive walls. A small wash house containing a single tap
stood against one of these walls. At the floor, where the tap dripped,
a brick had been removed. I always thought that our only hope of
escape would be out through a hole near the floor. Two military
watch towers overlooked our small yard, in the centre of which was a
recreation shed. The soldiers in them could not quite see into the
wash house.

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2V5

Mick Mullen was a medical student from near Castlebar. I said to
him one day. our only hope of getting out of here is through that wash
house , but l don't know how it can be done except through the roof.
Mick tackled it. but found that it would not work. Meanwhile, a few
local lads were brought in who knew Athlone. One of these
recommended that we work upon the hole near the floor and escape
that way. Six o'clock was lock-up time, so it was necessary to complete
it before that. One chap stood idly in the door opening. If a military
policeman appeared the chap working on the hole would draw his
basin across it. scattering a few shirts alongside it meanwhile. At long
last a very small hole penetrated through. We had very little time left.

We decided we would go in pairs, taking one of the local lads to
make up each pair. Quickly the first two scrambled and scraped their
way through. They found themselves in an enclosed yard. Pushing at a
barred window, it opened into a vehicle workshop. Emerging with a
screwdriver and some tools they hastily opened a door out of this yard
on to an internal roadway running parallel to the public road, entered
now just past the rail station, and bordering a fetid canal.

The internal roadway, was enclosed by another high wall. They
proceeded on from there but I cannot say how exactly they went. We
were now following close upon their tail. I went head first horizontally
through the hole scraping myself abominably because I could not wear
my jacket, but eventually emerging in the second enclosed yard. We
did not know whether to attempt to cross this as the sentry could see
into it also. Should we wait here for the change of guard or take the
chance now? We felt we had to push on. We followed where we
presumed the first party had gone. This brought us straight onto Pump
Square, in other words right into where our own lads, the detainees,
were housed. Would they spoil our chances by involuntarily greeting
us? Again we had to take the chance. Jimmie Martin, was with me
now. Hastily donning our scuffed jackets, and pulling each out a
hankie — they'll take us for officers, we boldly walked into the big
square. It was Sunday afternoon, and our lads were hanging about in
the bright sunlight. Red caps and soldiers supervised them. Now. 1
thought, is the testing time: if there is a single shout we are finished.
But they had enough sense to keep quiet.

We crossed the square and emerged in the corner of Artillery
Square, another big square, in the corner of which hdd been a tall old
elm tree. It was cut down, but its big branches had not been lopped and
these stood up almost reaching to the top of the wall. Could we make
it? At the corner, suspended from an upright post that was carrying the
barbed wire on top of the wall, was a strong length of wire with a loop
upon the end of it. This was suspended above one of the branches that
we now climbed up. I sprang for this loop and fortunately, got it on the

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first grab. With both of us holding it, we pulled ourselves to the top of
the wall, passed through the barbed wire, and dropped twenty feet into
the Protestant minister's garden. There is a road close to this, and we
got on to it. It leads to a place called the Batteries, where Free State
soldiers were out walking their girls. The alarm had not been raised so
we passed them without anyone taking notice. We got away as quickly
as we could, leaving Athlone behind us. That night we were safely
hidden in a house on the road to Athleague.

Three separate pairs got out we learned afterwards, before the
shutters closed and the escape hole was caught. It was well worth the
effort, even though I was now on the run. I remained undercover until
the end of 1925.

(Tom's wife took up the story here)

The thought occurred to me that he must need a new suit. I took one
of his from the wardrobe, brought it to the tailor in Ballinrobe, who
took the measurements from it and had a new suit made. I posted it on
to Athlone. An orderly from Garrison Detention collected post at the
post office each day. Lifting the parcel containing the new suit he
remarked, this man must expect to go through the front gate any day
now.

Within a fortnight he and his five companions disappeared. This
must have caused further consternation among the Free State
authorities at their enquiry. Sure a suit of clothes was sent in to him.
They probably thought that cars and everything were arranged, but of
course, we knew nothing. That evening we were going to the mission in
Cong by sidecar. Free State cars and lorries tore past us at Ashford
Castle coming from the Ballinrobe direction as they fanned out to
scour the countryside. We wondered what for.

Meanwhile, we had a woman friend in Athlone who was forever
concocting plans to release him. She had arrangements made with a
boatman to bring him across the Shannon. Sal was her name. / will
send you a telegram , said she, if we get him out. Agnes is very sick, come
and visit her.

Nothing however came of Sal's well intentioned efforts. Tom's
father was the first to bring the news. He had called to a house in
Ballinrobe. There were two soldiers there, and they told him that his
son and some others were being sought. He hurried home to be met on
his arrival by the prearranged telegram from Sal.

(Here Tom takes up the story again)

My companions did not really expect a thorough search. We are as
safe here , they said on arrival at the house as if we were in God's pocket.

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297

But I did not feel easy, nor did I retire to bed. Before dawn army lorries
came tearing down the road. We quickly left. It took me a week, never
showing my head above ground, to pass from South Roscommon to
Boyle, where the North Roscommon Battalion had a secret dug-out
right at the water s edge on Lough Key. It was a boggy place high over
the lake in the Rockingham Estate.' The land steward was a man
named Pat Flanagan, and Pat was friendly to us. Months before, when
the heat came on. he had directed them to an out-of-the-way part
where two dug-outs were constructed. Outwardly they looked fine. I
got a bunk in the big dug-out. from the ceiling of which galvanised
buckets hung containing the few bits of food our lads had. Light inside
was provided by a car battery, carbide and candles perched on timber
ledges retaining the earthen walls. The floor was supported clear of the
damp earth on crude timbers.

The light was only douced for the night when the racket started. Rats
were entering from everywhere, big brown ones. Making frantic
squeals as they tried to crawl along the roof timbers to reach our food
buckets. Some would fall to the floor or on to our bunks scampering in
all directions. Some fought with each other, squealing. You could not
imagine the clamour. I hate rats, but I put in the night anyway, wishing
it was morning and wishing I could go out and be away from them.

Eventually. I surfaced with the rest ot them. Not a rat to be seen. But
we were in a very out of the way part of the estate, heavily overgrown
by shrubs and fern, the fern and tree trunks falling and blocking drains,
and making a heavy soft compost over the earth. The ground was
drowsy with richness, but if it was, it was intersected by the hdtharin
dearg of the rats. Just then, I was not aware of this. I hung back
therefore when evening came. I did not want to go below. The others
had already dropped down. One young fellow spoke to me from the
hatch; are you coming? No, said I. not for all Roscommon would I
spend another night in a dug-out with those rats. What are you going to
do then ? / spotted a nice clump of hushes over there, l will dig in there
for the night. He tried to explain to me that it was as bad over ground as
it was below. It is from above they are going down. But it was no use I
insisted on staying above ground. I found that it was almost as bad. The
rats scampered past me and over me as I tried to sleep. No place was
safe from them.

I put in a week there, half wishing I was back in Athlone, when I was
called to Dublin. There were vacancies on the Executive of the I. R. A
one of which they wanted me to fill. I left Rockingham and was
conveyed to Carrick-on-Shannon, staying overnight in Duignans, a
friendly pub, beside the bridge. I was picked up the next morning by
Peter Casey who had a new hire car. He brought me safely to Dublin. I
was met by Cathleen McLoughlin, later the wife of Maurice Twomey.

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and a skilful courier for the I.R.A. in those days. She brought me to a
house in Earlsfort Terrace, in which there was a well constructed
dug-out. free of rats, I am glad to say. I was appointed to an Executive
with Frank Aiken as Chief of Staff, upon which sat also such people as
Bill Quirke, Austin Stack, Sean Dowling, Tom Barry, Humphrey
Murphy, Sean Hyde, Sean MacSwiney and Tom Crofts.

I took no appointment on the Executive,(8) nor did I remain in
Dublin. I stayed for about a week, then I returned to my own area.
There was an election coming off, and I wanted to take part in it. I was
being opposed on this my third appearance before the electorate, but I
won nevertheless. Sinn Fein did much better, coming back with 44
seats. There was no fairness in the election. I could make no public
appearances although I chanced one or two. George Maguire, of
Claremorris, my election agent, told me afterwards that bundles of
votes intended for me were put to one side as spoiled. When he asked
to inspect these he was assaulted. Two and a half miles from here, in
Glencorrib. the presiding officer, a local teacher, was obliged to leave
the polling station because of rowdiness from Free State
supporters. (9)

You mention now, a meeting Eamonn De Valera had in Rome with
Cardinal Mannix in 1925, when he was accompanied by Sean
MacBride — although MacBride was not present at the meeting. He
was consulting the prelate, and Mannix convinced him that he should
recognise the existing political institutions and enter Leinster House. 1
heard also, a long time afterward, because, so far as I know, De Valera
never reported on this meeting to the Sinn Fein Ard Comhairle or to
the Second Dail. I tried to meet Moss Twomey some few years ago to
try to learn more about this, but 1 was unable to keep my appointment.
(In any case, fearing what was about to happen, following the
resignation of its Chief of Staff, Frank Aiken, the I. R. A. reverted to its
independent status free of any control by Sinn Fein. Thus it returned to
the position it had held prior to August, 1919, and for nine months
during 1922).

We got married in December 1925. That was the first time I surfaced
for eighteen months after my escape. The pressures had eased off, but
not completely. They came raiding here that very day. One of our lads,
who had no clothes that were respectable, was persuaded to wear his
uniform. They arrested him. and held him for a few days. We were just
building this house again, and it was not quite finished. It was a hard,
hungry time. My father’s business was wrecked. They had stolen, or
taken away the models and templates for wheels that are so necessary
in this trade. So it was hard for me to start back again.

After 1925, you had the virtual dissolution of this thriving political
party with its 44 seats in the South in order to create Fianna Fail. That

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was almost inevitable, once De Valera had made his decision to take
part, in view of the great personal magnetism of the man. This abrupt
departure arose from the resolution put forward to a special Ard Fheis
on March 9th. 1926 on his behalf that declared, and I paraphrase, if the
oath is removed it becomes a question of policy not of principle whether
we enter Leinster House. (10)

De Valera resigned, and on May 16th at La Scala Theatre, founded
Fianna Fail. (In the June 1927 election they improved on the Sinn Fein
position by going from 44 seats to 47, a modest increase. Following the
assassination of Kevin O'Higgins in July, Cosgrave brought in a
sweeping series of coercion bills. There was an election in September:
he had hoped to better his position in the wake of a wave of sympathy
for O’Higgins, instead they slumped to 81 seats, while Fianna Fail
raced ahead to 57 seats. Sinn Fein did not contest the election.
Meanwhile on August 11th they had presented themselves in Kildare
Street and signed the form of oath. De Valera had been quite categoric
that they would not take this oath, and had sought by every means,
considering a court case(ll) to avoid taking it. In Aprif 1926 he
declared, the person who takes it will be held to have taken an oath in the
strict sense. Sean Lemass said, in July 1927, we have been urged to take
it and break it; we will not do that because political morality should not
sink so low. On 25th July. two weeks before entering De Valera stated
in answer to a question, under no circumstances whatever would I
subscribe to such an oath; that is final. (12)

The Oath was taken on August Ilth and was administered by the
Clerk of the Dail, Colm O Murchadha. It ran as follows;

/ do solemnly swear true Faith and Allegiance to the Constitution of
the Irish Free State as by law established , and that 1 will be faithful to His
Majesty King George V, his heirs and successors by law by virtue of the
common citizenship of Ireland with Great Britain, and her allegiance to
and membership of the British Common wealth of Nations.

This was the oath taken home from London by Griffith in May 1922
although strenuously objected to by Collins, and published then on the
morning of that election. By any standards it was very strong medicine
for Republicans: no wonder they rejected it. De Valera abolished this
oath in 1933.

His volte face at this time was partly explained by the opportunity
presented by the knife edge election returns of September 1927 which
offered the chance to unseat Cosgrave and the Cumann nGacI Party
The figures were as follows;

Cumann na nGael 61 Independents 12 Workers League 1

Fianna Fail 57 Farmers 6

Labour 13 National League 2 Total 152

300

TOM MAGUIRE

Fianna Fail, Labour and the National League of Capt. Redmond
made a hasty compact and put down a vote of no confidence. The
figures, after some critical absentees, were even at 71/71. On the
casting vote of the Ceann Comhairle it was lost. However, it could
have been won had Alderman Jinks of Sligo, a member of the National
League, presented himself. It was later learned that he had retired to a
hotel in Harcourt Street. The Cosgrave government was thus saved for
the Tailtean Games of 1928, and for the Daniel O’Connell Centenary ,
of 1929. It is interesting to speculate whether a Fianna Fail
government, elected in 1927, might have turned out to have had a
more enduring radicalism than the one elected in 1932.

My main objection to Leinster House was that it was a British
institution, and a lowering of the flag. I said this at a meeting of the
Second Dail, early, as far as I can recall now, in 1926. De Valera who
was present, resented this. It is not a lowering of the flag , he
interjected. It reminded him painfully, I knew, of his own statement in
October 1917, when he had been elected President of Sinn Fein in
succession to Arthur Griffith. We say it is necessary to be united under
the flag under which we are going to fight for freedom — the flag of the
Irish Republic. We have nailed that flag to the mast, we shall never lower

m i3)

We remained on after 1926 as a shadow government in the same
shadowy form in which we had existed since the disolving of An Dail in
April, 1922. Even in Easter 1928 — the time at which our group’s
picture, on the wall here, was taken for reasons of historical record in
Dublin — there was still a full quorum of 23 Second Dail members.(14)

I was no longer on the Executive of the I.R.A. at that time. They
seemed to be giving Fianna Fail a certain measure of support. I was
concerned solely with the political life of Sinn Fein. We were aware
now that the chances of ever achieving political power were slipping
away, yet we were up against a stone wall. We could not go into the
Free State parliament. Our hope after 1923, and the organisation’s
policy was simply to go on increasing our strength which we had been
doing.(15) When we had reached a majority, in other words after
another twenty seats or so, we would reconvene the Third Dail, and
proceed away from the Treaty position. That was agreed by De Valera
and everybody else, within the organisation. He breached that policy,
although he could still have reverted to it — and gained the
wholehearted support of Republican Ireland — if he had taken it up
again in 1932.

The people had already come back to him. However, he chose, after
a small amount of window dressing, to work the Treaty. You mention
Peadar O’Donnell and his Land Annuities campaign. Now, while I
agreed with his campaign, I must point out that Peadar was more of a

TOM MAGUIRE

301

socialist leader than a national leader; the nation did not mean so much
to Peadar as it did to me or some others. I believed in the historic Irish
nation.

As I said above. I was no longer on the Executive of the I.R. A. I
chose to stand in 1927 as a Republican candidate. They told me that I
could not do that, and if I did, I could not remain a member of the
I.R. A. I fell out over that. I know my mind; I knew I was not going into
the Free State Parliament. Later, some of them did. It was Moss and
MacBride, that got on to me about that.

I was not in Saor Eire in 1931, nor would I have anything to do with
it. I was selected however to give the oration at Bodenstown, in June
1932. I arrived at the Exchange Hotel, my old place in Parliament
Street, in Dublin to be confronted by Mick Price. He had largely the
same ideas as Peadar, you know. We want you, says Price, to draw
parallels between the French Revolution, 1798 and the Russian
Revolution of 1917. My answer was that whenever in the past I had
spoken in public, I did not require to seek inspiration from others.
Mick was not going to write my speech for me, and I told him that. I did
not know Frank Ryan very well, but I liked him. He was a fighter: if he
could not fight with a gun he fought with his fists. I met George
Gilmore scarcely at all, although I knew Harry well, a very nice fellow.

I had nothing to do with the Bass Boycott of 1932, nor with
Republican Congress in 1934. I put no faith in Fianna Fail, although I
hoped they would improve the country economically. They did a lot of
political window dressing, but it never impressed me.

We were still the shadow government of the Second Dail. when in
the Autumn of 1938. Sean Russell, whom I liked personally. Chief of
Staff, I.R.A. and his Army Council asked us, those that remained,
about nine of us, to transfer our powers as a government to them: to
enable them to pursue their military campaign in England. The I.R. A.
asked formally for this. I was not present at the meeting in Dublin at
which it came up. but they wrote to me. I refused at first, as I was
opposed to it. They wrote again, is this not the recognition of the
Republic that we all seek, or words to that effect. I then signified
agreement.(16)

In 1955, Commdt. Gen. Tom Maguire unveiled at Drumboe a
memorial to his friend Charlie Daly, of Firies, Tralee, executed there
in March 1923, along with Tim Sullivan, Sean Larkin and Dan Enright.

REFERENCES

I Arthur Griffith was elected President of the Irish Republic in place of Eamonn De
Valera on the 9th January. 1922 by 60 votes to 58.Desmond Greaves in Liam Mellows
pages 276-283 cover the treaty debate in detail. See Appendix for a full list of those
who voted for or against.

302

TOM MAGUIRE

2 Not a new Convention in fact, hut the adjourned session from March 26th.

3 See Sean MacBride’s account of the Convention.

4 See The Irish Republic by Dorothy Macardle for the full text of this measure.

5 The Gates Flew Open.

6 The five who were executed were Tom Hughes of Bogginfin. Michael Walsh of
Derrymore, Herbert Collins of Kickeen. Stephen Joyce of Derrymore and Martin
Burke of Cahirlistave, all of Co. Galway.

7 James O'Malley, John Newell, Martin Nolan. Frank Curnane and Michael
Monaghan.

8 Minutes of an Executive meeting of the U/12th July 1923, lists the following
Roll-Call.

Present:

Gen. Frank Aiken, Chief of Staff.

Comdt. Gen. Liam Pilkington. 0/C3rd Western Division.

Comdt. Gen. Sean Hyde, A. C/S.

Comdt. Gen. MikeCarolan, D/Intelligence.

Comdt. Gen. Sean Dowling, D/Organisation.

Comdt. M. Crcmin, D/Purchases.

Comdt. Gen. P. Ruttledge, Adj. Gen.

Comdt. Gen. T. O’Sullivan, O/C 3rd Eastern Division.

Comdt. Gen. Tom Barry.

Comdt. Gen. B. Quirke. O/C 2nd Southern Division.

Brigadier T. Ruane, O/C 2nd Brigade, 4th Western Division.

Comdt. Sean MacSwiney, Q.M. Cork 1st Brigade.

Comdt. Gen. Tom Crofts, O/C 1st Southern Division.

Brigadier J. J. Rice, O/C Kerry 2nd Brigade. (Substitute for Humphrey Murphy,
who arrived late.)

Comdt. Gen. Tom Maguire, O/C 2nd Western Division.

Absent:

Comdt. Seamus Robinson.

Comdt. Gen. M. Carolan was appointed substitute for A. De Stacon the Executive.

Among the business that followed it was decided that the Executive should keep intact
the Organisation. To that end the emigration of Volunteers, except for pressing reasons,
was forbidden. (Nonetheless emigration by the poverty stricken remnants was
widespread.) There was discussion on certain actions proposed by Gen. T. Barry who
had arrived. Barry refused to give undertakings pressed for by Aiken, and resigned from
the Executive. Mr. De Valera then arrived and explained the Sinn Fein policy for
contesting the August General Election. This was heartily endorsed.

The Executive later selected an Army Council consisting of:

Gen. Frank Aiken (Dublin)

Comdt. Gen. Liam Pilkington (Sligo)

Comdt. Gen. Bill Quirke (Tipperary)

Brigadier J. J. Rice (Kerry)

Comdt. Gen. P. J. Ruttledge (Mayo)

TOM MAGUIRE

303

9 Sce Maire Comerford for an account of official Free State intimidation in Cork, in
1923. In Ennis. De Valera was shot at and then arrested. In Dublin the Director of
Elections. Eamonn Donnelly was removed to jail. Throughout the state on polling day
streets were patrolled by military, with armoured cars present in garrison towns.

10 De Valera. Tom Maguire says, then approached individually those who had
voted against the resolutkm. He convinced some of them, including Smith of Cavan. My
interview with him did not last a minute, not a minute. He had no trouble where Frank
Aiken was concerned; it was already arranged with him. He was De Valera’s lap dog.

11 The idea of such a case was quickly dismissed; it would he like arraigning the Devil
in the Court of Hell, Sean Lcmass said.

12 Irish Times, July 26th. 1927.

13 Macardlc: The Irish Republic.

14 Pat Shanahan. Prof. Stockley. Mrs. Callaghan, Art O'Connor. J. J. O’Kelly.
Miss MacSwiney, Daithi Ceannt. Count Plunkett. Brian O’Higgins. Count O’Byme,
Eamonn Dealc. Seamus Lennon. F. G. Colivet, Austin Stack. Charles Murphy, Sean
O Mahony. Dr. Ada English, Thos. O Donoghue. Dr. Crowlev. Thos. Maguire, Sean
MacSwiney, Sean O'Farrell. Brian Mellows, Mrs. Cathal Brugha. Mrs. Tubberd.
stenographer and Councillor Joe Clarke, courier. Sean O’Farrell, although included in
the group, was not a member of the Second Dail. The names are as printed upon the
mount, although half the above used the Irish form normally.

15 Between August 1923 and March 1926, Sinn Fein had improved its vote at nine
by-elections according to Eamonn Donnelly, its Director of Organisation.

16 The Secret Army, by J. Bowyer Bell.

Ernie O’Malley in Raids and Rallies covers the Tourmakeady ambush descriptively

and with a map. Besides Michael O’Brien there was another casualty. Young Peadar

Feeney of Ballinrobe went out, first to warn and then to join them. He was intercepted

by police, taken prisoner, and later that night shot by them.

304

Peter

Carleton

of Belfast

Section Leader
in Fianna Eireann

I was born in Toomebridge in 1904. My father. Robert, was a small
farmer, making a living by labouring as a ploughman on neighbouring
holdings. My mother’s name was Elizabeth McLarnan. Everyone
around Toomebridge has strong national views, so they did not need to
instil them into me. Times were bad then, and the family moved to
Belfast shortly afterwards. I was eight years of age and Belfast to me,
with its trams, its heavy industries and the many fine buildings, was a
city of great wonder. We lived in a wee brick house in a street off
Carrick Hill, where Unity Rats stand now. My father had no particular
trade, and as the big steady posts in Belfast have always been closed to
us, the only jobs open to him were at casual labouring. 1 was too young
then to realise how difficult life must have been for the small farmer
immigrant class, who formed such an important wedge in the Catholic
population of this fiercely developing city. When the War came in
1914, things became even tighter. Employers were officially
encouraged to “facilitate” their workforce by disemploying them, so
that they would be forced into the army. That was the policy of Joe
Devlin and the Irish Party at that time. I remember Nicholas Ward, an
old Fenian from Boundary Street, passing one of Devlin’s recruiting
meetings in the Falls in 1915. There was Devlin holding forth on the
platform, a Union Jack fluttering in the breeze, and backed by a row of
poor ‘creathurs’ invalided out of the war. Waxing to a new height of
oratory, Joe lifted one of the crutches and waving it over his head, he
cried: this was earned for a small nation! You 'll never earn one anyway ,
Joe, Nicholas shouted. Do you know, he had to take for his life, the
crowd turned on him!

My father wasn't going to join the army, so he went to Glasgow,
where he sought and got work as a foundry man. He remained there
for three years. He returned here st the end of the War and carted for a
building firm — Connolly of Agnes Street. That is off the Shankhill, on
the other side now of the “Peace Line”.

April 1922. The IRA leaders are still together but split down the middle two months before the Civil War

Sean McKeon. Sean Moylan (anti Treaty), Eoin O'Duffy, Liam Lynch (anti Treaty),

Gearoid O'Sullivan, Liam Mellows (anti Treaty)

PETER CARLETON

305

Everyone in Toome had a nationalist background. Therefore it is
easy to see once things started happening here in Ireland that I would
want to take part. I joined our own local Carrick Hill company of Na
Fianna at the age of fifteen in the Spring of 1919. There were sixty
members in my company, all aged twelve to sixteen. Many of them
were the sons of the scrap, rag and second-hand book dealers who had
stalls in the Smithfield market. All of them were from poor families
living on potatoes, tea and margarine. I was placed in charge of my
section which was attached to A Company of the Second Battalion of
the Belfast Brigade. Our main operations then were in the field of
economic war, the burning and destruction of buildings likely to be of
use to the English enemy. Every picture-house, courthouse, tax office
and crown building was a target. The man directing us here was John
Maguire, our Company O.C., who became Battalion O.C. afterwards.
The Adjutant of the Brigade then was Hugh Kennedy. Prominent
among the other officers were Jimmy Bateson and a chap called Brady
who was a staff officer.

We did the scouting for these arson jobs, noting down carefully
when staff finally left and what the means of ingress were. We tried to
disregard the pogroms that were then commencing against Catholic
workers. The only direct action I recall against that was the bombing of
some tramcars carrying shipyard workers. The Bone, Carrick Hill and
the small Catholic areas in that enclave were under constant attack
from Orange rioters, led, in many cases by the B-Special
Constabulary. I must make it plain, however, at this stage, that my
whole outlook is non-sectarian. I never saw the struggle here as
something between Protestant and Catholic. It was against English
rule and the capitalist system itself. It was not, however, possible at
that time to reach out across the religious divide. Our company of the
Fianna, for instance, was entirely Catholic. In the nature of things, it
would have been impossible for it to be otherwise.(1)

The only type of conventional warfare that took place in Belfast and
that bore any resemblance to what was then taking place in the South,
was the ambush at Raglan Street. Twelve men took part, yet nearly a
hundred put in later for Free State pensions, though indeed I would be
the last to blame them. It was directed against the R.I.C. and B-
Specials. There were not a lot of casualties, but they captured some
arms and burned the Crossley tenders.

An Orange State

I can remember when the Truce was declared in July, 1921. Thank
God , said my mother, that / have lived to see this day. Everyone that
could dig up a flag hung it out. The Truce meant far more to us than to

PETER CARLETON

306

the rest of Ireland. We knew what Unionist domination meant, and we
hoped that now we were saved from it. In a few months* time she was
crying her eyes out as the family split and some of them joined the Free
State Army. Their motivation seemed to he twenty-four shillings a
week and a dyed khaki uniform. Four of my brothers joined it. They
were bought, like other lads from the North, with the promise of a
month's extended training. Once in the army of Ireland, as it seemed
to be. they stayed in it. Some of those that went there, however,
returned here later and rejoined the I.R.A. They turned out very'
useful subsequently.

We had however, in Fianna. received a directive from Dublin that
we were to stay neutral. To illustrate the upside-down situation that
existed here, when Collins was shot, most of the staff of the Second
Battalion went to Dublin and joined the Free State Army. Even up
here Collins had an aura that no one else had. I had a pretty good
company at Greencastle. to which I had been transferred. There were
thirty in it. When the order instructing us to remain neutral was read
out. many of them left. No more than seven remained, and that
included many of the officers. The nationalists here were somehow- in
favour of the Treaty. They were disappointed of course, but somehow
thay hoped it would work out in their favour, and meanwhile they were
content to wait.(2)

I was interned in 1923, shortly after the Cease Fire in the South.
Terry Lee. our Battalion Commandant, ordered all arms to be
dumped. He belonged to Albert Street, and was a brother of Tommy
Lee. also prominent. He had taken over from a chap called Brennan of
Sorella Street, who had emigrated to America. The staff at that time
included Lee, Johnston and Brennan. Following the cessation of
hostilities, it had been reduced from a Brigade to a Battalion status.

I was at home in Concord Street in August, when a heavy knock came
to our door and I found the B-Specials and R.U.C. waiting for me.
They gave me a few minutes to pack and get into the lorry; otherwise
they were quite civil to me. I was brought to Larne internment camp
where there were about two hundred at that time. Among them were
Hugh Corvin and Dan Turley. Before we were arrested, we had been
warned by our Battalion Commandant that there was trouble among
the prisoners themselves. If we found ourselves there, we were not to
take part in this trouble. We were very surprised, of course, to hear
that there could be dissension among our men, but there was. When,
therefore, I met Chip Burns of the Markets, who represented the O.C.
of the camp. Hugh Corvin. I told him what our instructions were. He
never bothered me after that, and we never became involved in
whatever the dissension was. We ran our own show in the prison,
taking direction only from our own officers. Fr. Gogarty was the

PETER CARLETON

307

chaplain for a while. We heard they got him sacked on the plea that he
was too mild. He was later in St. John’s here in Belfast.

The camp was an old fever hospital: the walls were covered with a
network of new barbed wire around which armed B-Specials patrolled.
The British Army was not present: the entire state at that time was run
by armed loyalists, known as A-Special Constabulary. B-Specials or
C-Specials. Even before the Treaty, Britain had transferred these
powers. I was there from August 1923, until February 1924, not a long
time, I admit, compared with what some people have had to endure
since that time. The Unionists were very much top dog in the Six
Counties; they knew they had won. The Argenta, moored out on Larne
Lough, was closed about the same time. In many ways it had been a
symbol of their victory. The men left behind on it were transferred to
our camp; some however were sent to Derry jail. We went on hunger-
strike then, hoping to hasten our release. One lad — we were all under
age — became quite ill. His name was McGovern. I was told that if I
came off. he could be persuaded to come off too. It worked alright and
he recovered.(3)

Hungry

When I got out in 1924. I returned to Concord Street. There was
only my mother and father there then. I was on my uppers. Not a job to
be had. and none for years and years. I don't think I got any work at all
until sometime in the thirties. There was no dole either at that time;
not for single men anyway. I can tell you we had few luxuries, it was
bread, a pinch of tea and margarine we lived on. Sometimes my father
would cop an odd job that kept us going. He had nothing steady either.
You would have no idea now how grim things were for working class
people at that time. Life was a real struggle for the people In the
Nationalist areas from 1920 until 1940. Discrimination was open and
unashamed. You couldn’t get outdoor relief either if there was a single
person working in the house. That would be enough to disqualify you.
Nobody today could understand it. Despite this, there was still great
loyalty to Joe Devlin and the remnants of his party. Of course he was a
great speaker and had the support of the conservative elements of the
Catholic Church. Their mouthpiece, the Catholic Protection
Committee, on 4th July 1922, congratulated the Free State
government after its attack on the Four Courts, and wished it God
speed in its efforts.

In October 1924, there was an election and we put up Paddy Nash
for Sinn Fein. The Nationalists boycotted the election and opposed us.

I remember holding a meeting in Cullingtree Road and the people

308

PETER CARLETON

came out and sang Rule Brittania. Then they pelted us with potatoes
lifted from the sacks outside the shops.

In spite of that, as the years went by and the depression bit deeper,
the city became ripe for revolution, if only the Republican Movement
could have taken advantage of it. George Gilmore was one of the few
people in the leadership who saw the opportunities, but he was,
unfortunately, in Dublin, with little sway over events in Belfast. He
came here just after the ODR riots in October 1932, to try to get the
Republican Movement to direct events. I met him at Mary Donnelly’s
house in Wall Street. He gave me a letter to bring to the Belfast O.C.,
Dave Matthews, which I did. Dave was not in the Pearse Hall when I
called. Dan Turley was very insistant that the Adjutant, Joe McGurk,
should open the letter, but I objected to this. Shortly after this, Davey
arrived from a meeting in the Painters’ Union. He read the letter. This
is Communist philosophy, Peter, said he, coming down the stairs with
me. And there is as much difference between Republicanism and
Communism as there is between day and night. I never knew what was
in the letter and I never met George again.

At that time Mick Price used to come to Belfast every other week. 1
liked him very much. I thought he was the most sincere and genuine
Republican I ever met. He had not started out as a socialist, but had
moved towards it in the course of his revolutionary activities. One
tends to see more of life that way and to rationalise things for oneself.

I met Frank Ryan also a number of times. He came to Belfast for the
Wolfe Tone Commemoration in 1925, which then, and occasionally in
after years when it was not banned, was held on the summit of the Cave
Hill, at Mac Arts Fort. He made the sort of strong speech that we had
come to expect from Frank Ryan. Referring to the Union Jacks flying
about the city, he declared: where I come from, if we can’t pull them
down, we shoot them down.

I was involved in the autumn of 1931 in the attempt to form Saor Eire
in Belfast. It had a brief existence; it never got off the ground. My
brother, Paul and myself were associated with McVicar, an ex B-
Special from the Shankill, and with William McMullen. Later I helped
to form a company of the Citizens’ Army, a group to the left of the
I.R.A., which however, co-operated to some extent with us, I can
remember we had the support of Anthony Lavery, who was on the
Battalion staff and who lived in Balkan Street. That was the time that
Republican Congress was formed. We were acting as its military wing.
We numbered about two hundred. I can remember being present at a
Citizen Army Convention held in Gardiner Street, and presided over
by Nora Connolly. I was among the group attacked at Bodenstown in
June 1934. We put up our banners in the (inner) assembly field. Just at
that moment we were told. No Banners; that was the first we heard of it.

PETER CARLETON

3<W

It was evident, however, that the red banners of Congress were not
welcome. As we marched from the field, we were attacked by this
group and the two banners we carried broken. We continued on
nevertheless until we reached the cemetery gates where we did an
about turn and came back to Sallins.

With a number of other Belfast people, including Maura Laverty, I
attended the Congress meeting of the 29th September 1934, held in
Rathmines Town Hall, at which our organisation split irrevocably. We
had decided to vote for the Workers' Republic resolution against the
advice of most of the leadership. Peadar O'Donnell was furious with
us, especially since he was told that I had brought pressure to bear on
one of our party by threatening to leave him in Dublin. I had indeed
done this, but it was as a joke. No Belfast man could imagine a worse
fate than being left behind in Dublin. After the split. Roddy Connolly
came here and informed us that we must in future adhere to the
orthodoxy of O'Donnell, Gilmore and Ryan, which, with some
regrets, due to the circumstances of Belfast, we could not see ourselves
doing. So we politely told him so and parted with Congress; what
remained of us infiltrated back into the I. R. A. again or moved further
leftwards.

Sometime after the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War, I applied to a
professor in Glasgow, who was recruiting names ostensibly for an
ambulance unit. I was short-listed, but not subsequently called. I did
not wish to apply locally in Belfast where labour politics were
dominated by Harry Midgley. M.P. He had already coloured attitudes
by adopting a stand that was both Loyalist and at the same time in
support of the Spanish Republican Government. Midgley was well
known in Belfast as a shifty sort of socialist, (he subsequently joined
the Unionists and became a cabinet minister); his adherence to the
Spanish Republican cause was enough therefore to drive many
Northern Irish Republicansaway from it. Nonetheless a number went
from Belfast, and two of my friends were killed there.

In 1937 I left Belfast for Birmingham, where I worked on the
railway. I was there the evening in January 1939. when a bomb went off
in New Street Station where I worked. It was part of the I.R.A.
campaign which had commenced a few weeks before, but of course I
knew nothing about it; not beforehand, that is. In fact when the first
communiques came out, I refused to believe them. Anyway this
evening I was sitting in a canteen with these Englishmen, when a blast
went oft It sounded to me like a backfire from one of our steam
engines. Up jumped this man; what's that? said he. Laughing, I said;
that s the I.R.A talking to you now. When we knew what it was, we
rushed over. It had gone off in a cloakroom, aimed evidentlv to hurt
nobody, though it caused a lot of damage. There was a train standing

310

PETER CARLETON

opposite the opening; every pane in it was splintered. As we returned
to our canteen, one of the Englishmen said to me; well , what do you
think of that now? Its the expression , said I, of an oppressed people.
He's talking right , said a gingerhaired man in a corner. / remember .
twenty years ago , seeing men leave this city; they were known Idler as
Black and Tans. They carried a ticket of leave in one pocket and a
Weblev revolver in the other.

I had free travel on the railway. The day that war broke out, in
September 1939, I went down to the station, collected a voucher, and
returned to Belfast to my family. I came home with nothing but the
clothes I was wearing. England’s difficulty, I hoped, would be our
opportunity.

REFERENCES

I Since I860 until the present day. religious tension has been deliberately tormented

by British and Protestant employer interests among the working class. July 1920 saw the
commencement of a two-year long period of sectarian warfare aimed at consolidating
the new Orange state of Northern Ireland and as a counterforce to Republican warfare
in the South As Michael Farrell in his book. Northern Ireland: the Orange State tells it.
The fiction that only Sinn Feiners were to be expelled was soon disposed of. All
Catholics in the two yards were put out, together with a number of Protestants of radical
or Labour views, including James Baird, a Labour Councillor, and John Hanna, ex¬
master of an Orange Lodge, who had worked with James Larkin in the Belfast dock
strike of 1907.

— o. 28-29. Farrell .

2 The partition of Ireland had been part of the British design since the eighties. A
largely rural community, 95% Catholic in the South, counter-balanced by an industrial
community, 60% Protestant in the North, formed the basis. This they consolidated
through favouritism and carefully formented ourbreaks, the resident and totally isolated
Catholic population being used as an anvil by these colons. In the circumstances,
defensive thinking — unfortunate though it may be — has been an inevitable part of our
make-up. From the moment, therefore, early in 1914. that the principle of partition was
accepted by Joe Devlin and John Redmond, it became a weapon that would be used to
circumvent the nationalist struggle. It is significant that less then twenty days after the
local Parliament here wasopened in June 1921. the British sought a truce with Sinn Fein.
As Churchill remarked later: From that moment, the position of Ulster became
unassailable.

— p. 41, Farrell.

3 Argenta was a U.S. ship completed in 1919 at a cost of 150,000 dollars. As it was
not required for wartime use, it was sold to the Six County government for £3,000. It
was in use from early 1922 to 1924. As few prisoners could swim there were no escapes.
The brass bell was later purchased by Sir Dawson Bates, Minister for Home Affairs,
for fifteen shillings.

Tony

Woods

Staff Captain, I.R.A.

311

My mother was always very nationalistic and got involved with
Cumann na mBan at an early stage. Her name was Mary Flannery
from Monasterevin, where you will still find today a ’98 monument
commemorating a Flannery among the unnamed heroes. The family
had strong connections in Ballaghderreen (through the McDermotts
of Coolevin) where my mother was educated. Later she went to work
with Major General O'Farrell, Surgeon General, after which she went
with that family to Malta, where he was Governor. She stayed a
number of years there. Altogether you could say she had quite a
cosmopolitan existence for those days. Coming back to Ireland at the
turn of the century, she married my father and from 1917 onwards, she
was very involved with Maud Gonne MacBride, Mrs. Despard and the
ladies of Roebuck House.

My father, Andrew, was from Co. Wicklow, a strong A.O.H.(l)
man. His grandfather built much of Victorian Donnybrook. They were
in the dairy business and lived around there. He was politically minded
in a bookish way and could claim a friendship with Griffith and
Diarmuid O'Hegarty. Early on he joined Redmond’s Volunteers.
They used train in McDonald’s field, opposite the present Telefis
Eireann headquarters. De Valera, who lived at that time in Albert
Villas, Donnybrook, used go there. He often told me afterwards; Your
father was the first one who taught me to shoulder arms. Well , I would
say, he did little else for Ireland . Which is true, for to a great extent he
was a neutral, shadowy figure, while my mother was a political
extrovert, and a strong Nationalist, despite being from a Galway
Blazer type of set.

We lived around the corner at 131 Morehampton Road, from the
O'Rahillys. She was also a great friend of Eamonn Martin, Madame's
chief scout, and also Joe McGlynn. She was therefore privy to much
that was going on. When the arms came from Howth, for instance.

312

TONY WOODS

some of them came to our house for safekeeping. She was so involved,
therefore, that I cannot say that 1916 was a shock to her. She may not
have known about it, but she could have guessed.

There is a blank in my life in the years following 1916 — I >vas little
more than a schoolboy anyway. It was about that time, 1917, that I was
sent to the Irish College at Omeath. Frank Aiken, who lived then in
Bessbrook, was a governor there. I often travelled by bike the seven
miles to stay with him. In the atmosphere that prevailed we were all
imbued with the nationalist cause. In 1919, therefore, I joined E Coy
of the 3rd Battalion, under a man called Tanham. He was succeeded by
Noel Lemass, who is, in my opinion, a very underwritten person. In fact
he was a flamboyant extrovert; a very tall, swashbuckling type.(la)
But a great company man; very keen; an attractive person. He ran our
company completely differently from other companies. We had about
twenty-six men, and when he came to us, he set out immediately to
heighten the whole level of activity. There was in the battalion as a
whole six companies, I think, A to F, with Joe O'Connor as Battalion
O.C. Our company extended from Ballsbridge to Clonskeagh,
including Ranelagh and stopping at the canal. We were fairly active
there, carrying out a number of ambushes.

Ammunition in Short Supply
Arms classes were held in a place near the library in Pearse Street,
while in Wexford Street, they made ammunition and grenades.
Instructors in the Thompson gun came from America to Pearse Street
sometime in the twenties.(2) We used also meet in Lower Rathmines
Road, close to the church. Our armoury was very limited. We had
about eight or ten revolvers in the company. They were an assortment
of Webleys, Colts, Mausers, Parabeliums, along with four Mauser
rifles, — not much good — and some grenades. We had not many of
those, and as they were the ideal weapon for urban ambushes, we, and
all the other battalions, were constantly trying to find ways and means
to manufacture them. That entails a lot of skills combining together to
make the iron moulds, to pack and Fill them, to make the priming
devices, to procure spring detonators, as they would be hard to make,
and so on. Quite a long process of manufacturing, difficult to locate
safely, and difficult to obtain the necessary supplies for. Up and down
the country, there were these little grenade factories going or
attempting to get started. They made a contribution alright, but we
never really had enough grenades.

Supplies of ammunition were so bad that we had to try to convert
rifle ammunition, of which there was a surplus, to revolver
ammunition. You would think it could not be done, but it can. The

TONY WOODS

313

battalion issued us with moulds and crimping pliers, to make the lead
revolver bullets. We would empty the rifle cartridges, cut them down
and expand them, and put the necessary explosive compound into
them. An instructor came from the battalion to show us how to do this,
and signs on it, we must have been successful, because we never had
any serious accidents as a result of faulty bullets. Of course at that
time, you must remember, people were very diligent, very devoted
We all worked on slender resources, but we pulled together; there was
no carelessness, and we got an enormous amount done despite the
forces and the experience ranged against us. We were imbued with an
idealism that has long since died.

We had our factory for carrying out these tasks in a stable in
Waterloo Lane, on the right-hand side, which we hired from a man
called Saul, who was in coal and hardware on Leeson Street Bridge. I
knew the family because they lived in Donnybrook too; in fact he was
the father of Captain Saul, who later, assisted on the first east/west
trans Atlantic flight with Captain James Fitzmaurice and their two
German companions. We did not tell them the purpose for which their
mews was taken by us. That would never have done. Eventually it was
discovered by the military, but if one reads the impending signs of a
raid, one can be out beforehand, as we were. They got nothing except
four post office bikes which we had commandeered and had been
using.

We were making use of, for a while, one of the summer houses in
Herbert Park. We stored some ammunition and grenades in the roof
space. It would not hold much, but it seemed safe. We could enter and
leave at night, when the park was shut. Children came upon it
however, and the military then raided it. We got into hot water for
being so careless, because such a place is not really safe at all. The
company staff, including myself, was courtmartialed by the battalion
in Rathmines. Joe Guilfoyle. the Battalion Quartermaster, came
along, and of course complained loudly about how difficult it was to
replace stuff that was captured. We were rather terrified, not of what
they might do. but because of the dereliction of duty and carelessness
(hat was laid bare. However, they were not too hard on us. In fact they
made up to E Company what had been lost.

The activities of our patrols were, at the start, rather amateurish.
That is understandable, as we had no military people in our company.
Most of the other companies had. Perhaps they had a more proletarian
background; there were ex-British soldiers scattered among them,
some 1916 Volunteers, and so on. We had nothing like that. I can
remember one ambush we had on Sandford Road, between Marl¬
borough Road and Belmont Avenue, when we attacked some tenders
carrying Auxiliaries. A man called Morrissey was in charge, but the
actual operations were under the control of a man called John

314

TONY WOODS

McGowan, who had a long history with the North County Brigade.
There were seven of us, some being hidden in a bank of trees that flank
one side of the road, and the rest of us in the grounds of Muckross
Convent. There was a major shot dead by us in one lorry. You could
say it was a fair trophy for a day’s outing. He was sitting in the back of a
cage car, going out to a raid in Enniskerry as we heard afterwards. That
caused great consternation among them and enabled us to get away.
One of our lads, who received a shrapnel wound, was caught and got
ten years for it. We had flung a number of grenades, when the lorries
stopped, and these had proved very effective. Poor McGowan was
mortally wounded afterwards, on the day the Civil War started, in St.
Stephen’s Green.

How did we plan these operations? We maintained a constant
system of watching main routes in our area. We would report any sort
of regular activity to the battalion. If that sort of feed through was not
reaching them, we would get a gee-up, why not. Lemass was a
marvellous man at writing reports. They read just as though they came
straight from a military manual. They were so good that they were
reproduced as samples of what was required in An t-Oglach.

Lemass was not in the Sandford Road ambush, but he did take part
in one on Mespil Road. That was a much more dangerous one. We
were patrolling a main route as usual on the chance that the right sort
of target would present itself. This day, we had started off walking
from Appian Way along Upper Leeson Street, turning down by the
canal along the then quietly residential Mespil Road. Somebody
observed tenders approaching from Baggot Street Bridge. Quickly we
slipped into the front gardens of the houses, all of which had plenty of
trees, shrubs and the sort of cover we needed. There were three
tenders, one a caged one(3) the other two open. Cathal O’Shannon, a
1916 man, flung his grenade at the caged Crossley, but it bounced off,
rolling on to the road, where it exploded. They stopped at once, and
there was quite a bit of shooting, as they took us on. In fact they
jumped out and tried to surround us. We retreated through the
gardens into Burlington Road, but they did not follow us. I think they
were being cautious. They could not be sure that they would not walk
into a trap if they did so. It was a tactic often used at that time, to run
away while a better placed group, frequently armed with a machine
gun, took them on. That was done, I know, in the Dardanelles, as the
narrow part of Wexford Street was called.Noel Lemass, as I said, was
in charge, and he came back to our house at Morehampton Road, and
stayed the night. I laugh still when I think of it, how light-hearted we
could be, and how we could joke with each other as we drank tea and
ate our boiled eggs afterwards. Between the scraps, it was an

TONY WOODS

315

extraordinary unreal war, part-time civilians and youngsters, pitched
against a real army.

There is another one I remember, a rather feeble one. that occurred
on Stillorgan Road, a short distance beyond Donnybrook Church.
That was the end of the tramline then, and the end of the city; it was
entirely open fields with a few big houses. Montrose. Belfield and
places like that. My recollection is that a big operation was planned by
the South County Battalion around Stillorgan. Our instructions were
that if the Crossleys attempted to pass out by us, we were to try to
waylay them. The other was to be a bigger operation and was to have
protection. We were in position behind walls and hedges when
shooting broke out prematurely on our side. Someone had reacted
precipitately and had started firing. In the excitement, we hit a closed
van and blew up a car though I don’t think we hurt anyone. However it
was a fiasco and we had to make a sharp getaway.

There was another one on Leeson Street Bridge itself. McGowan
was in charge of that. The British were approaching from the city,
coming over the bridge and turning to go down Mespil Road towards
Beggars Bush Barracks. When the shooting started, they stopped on
the bridge, but because of the limited range of our short arms in an
open area like that, we could not fight it out with them. We gave them
something to write home about before we disengaged.

There were other ones that I cannot now recall; ones that I was not
on and would not have much information about. There were raids too,
by our Volunteers, for arms. Intelligence would hear of caches of guns
in big private houses. In the main, these were not very successful as
frequently all we got was an antique, something that was of no use
whatever.

As a company, and as a battalion, we had a considerable amount of
independence. We could do our own jobs, provided they did not
conflict with overall army policy. We might be handed down minor
tasks to do by the Brigade, such as to watch houses, or to send in
specific reports. I knew a few fellows in the Fourth Battalion, which
stretched from Rathmines, through Harold’s Cross, and over to
Inchicore. There were some very important barracks in that area; it
also had the Great Southern Railway works, where we had a few
friendly fitters that were willing to do “nixers”.

I knew nobody at all in the First and Second Battalions, located on
the North side, nor anyone in the Engineers' Battalion, known as the
Fifth. Later on I got to know Andy McDonnell. O.C. of the South
County Battalion, but that was mainly because he was a friend of the
family.

316

TONY WOODS

Attempted Rescue of Sean McKeon
Would you like to hear a sidelight on this, related to me later by
Liam Tobin, who took part. McKeon was captured a month after the
successful ambush at Ballinalee, brought to Dublin, and on June 14th
sentenced to be hanged. Collins resolved to get him out of Mountjoy.
The toughest men in the A.S.U. were selected, Tobin, Charlie Dalton,
Bill Stapleton. Pat McCrae and some more. The plan was to capture an
amoured car, use the uniforms of the Auxiliaries, and present
themselves at the 'Joy with a warrant for McKeon’s removal. Every
Thursday, or it may have been Friday, an armoured car arrived at a
bank in Camden Street. As soon as the door was opened, the A.S.U.
men would leap in. If there was resistance, they would just mow down
anyone that opposed them. That would of course spoil the plan, which
depended upon a peaceful surrender and capture of their uniforms. It
worked alright. They got the car and the uniforms, and they then
dumped the Auxiliaries in a convenient house nearby. Proceeding
then to the Joy, they presented a letter from O.C., Portobello.
requesting the Governor to deliver over Sean McKeon. At this point a
hitch occurred. The Governor was suspicious, not that the request was
out of order, but because he feared that if McKeon was delivered up,
the Auxiliaries would certainly murder him. He went off to make
inquiries. Uneasy at the long delay, the squad decided they had better
retreat, which they did. Indeed they may have shot their way out.
McKeon was a goner only for the fact that the Truce saved him.

In the Castle

I was attending university at the time, the College of Science, in
Merrion Street. Tony Lawlor. who later attained rank in the Free State
Army, was there; also Farrell, later of the E.S.B., who was on our side,
and a number of others closely linked with the Movement. During this
time, my mother was working actively for Collins. She bought a
number of H.Q. houses for him, at least one that I know of, at St.
Mary's Road. Ballsbridge, where she — outwardly anyway — lived
with him. You have got corroboration of that already in the account of
Maire Comerford. Early in May 1921, the Tans raided our company
H.Q. in Denzille Street(4) and caught six of us, Lemass. Morrissey,
Fergus O'Neill, myself and two more of the staff. We were taken from
there to Dublin Castle and herded into a small room in the Lower
Yard. We were each separately interviewed by a man in R.I.C.
uniform, a fine looking man about six foot two inches tall, who, I
afterwards discovered, was the famous Sergeant Igoe. Major Hardy
came in, took one look at us and went out again. He. evidently, was not
going to bother with us unless Igoe decided that we were important.

TONY WOODS

317

Hardy was a slight man and walked with a limp, but he could be deadly.
He had interrogated Ernie O’Malley only a few weeks before.(5) He
was a brave but desperate person who never spared himself or others.
He was responsible for the shootings, tortures and beatings which took
place in the Castle, but he reserved himself only for the most important
fish which was a relief to us. Prior to Bloody Sunday, he had lived
outside the Castle in a hotel in Harcourt Street, and he used to cycle in
daily. Liam Tobin and Kelleher had waited for him one day near
Wicklow Street, determined to get him, but through some mischance
he got by. and the opportunity never presented itself again. He was a
most interesting character, a born murderer; he had been a prisoner in
Germany in the Great War but had escaped. Shortly after he wrote a
book called / Escape; when he left Ireland in 1922. he wrote another
Never In Vain, which covered the situation, as he saw it, here. Then he
wrote another, I cannot now recall the name, which dealt with the
shooting of Sean Treacy in Talbot Street on the 14th October, 1920.
He was the one who was responsible for tracking Treacy down, and he
wrote the book I would say, because he wanted to get him out of his
system. It was in the form of a novel. It painted quite a good picture of
Treacy. and it also mentioned a number of the other people, such as
Tobin, who were on the opposite side.

After spending a day in the Castle, we were taken to an internment
camp at Collinstown aerodrome, where the airport is now, and from
there to Kilmainham. I was there just a few days when the men who
had been captured at the Customs House operation on May 25th came
in. They were put down in the cages in the basement. We were shifted
then to the Rath Camp on the Curragh. Lemass was O.C. of it. It was
clear to us now that they had no evidence connecting us with anything
important. I was given parole to do an examination in June, and
following the Truce, sometime in August, I was released.

With Liam Mellows

It was from the Rath Camp that Peadar O’Donnell later escaped. He
made straightaway for our house.(6) I was fascinated when I first met
him. Such a marvellous talker: such a great gift for conversation. I
returned to E Company; the Truce was still on. when I was seconded to
N Company, where a Captain Connolly was

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